My   Long  Life 


^y 


My  Long  Life 


An  Autobiographic  Sketch 


By 

Mary  Cowden-Clarke 

Author  of 

"The  Concordance  to  Shakespeare,"    "  The  Girlhood  of 

Shakespeare's  Heroines,"  "  The  Iron  Cousins," 

Etc.,  etc. 


"  I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy, 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends" 

SHAKESPEARE 


New  York 
Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 


Copyright,  1896, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


SEtttbersttg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


MY   LONG   LIFE, 


331223 


My   Long   Life. 

HAVING  been  asked  to  write  my  reminis- 
cences of  myself  and  of  my  family,  and  of 
the  persons  distinguished  in  literature  or 
art  whom  I  have  known,  I  have  the  rather 
consented  because  I  have  been  blessed  with 
a  greatly  privileged  and  happy  life. 

I  was  born  on  the  22d  of  June,  1809,  'ln 
the  same  house  where  my  father,  Vincent 
Novello,  was  born  —  No.  240  Oxford  Street, 
or,  as  it  was  then  called,  Oxford  Road,  for 
it  still  bore  some  traces  of  a  somewhat 
suburban  exit  from  that  western  quarter  of 
London.  Its  vicinity  to  Hyde  Park  and 
Kensington  Gardens,  its  closeness  to  Edge- 
ware  Road  and  Bayswater  Road,  its  com- 
manding from  its  attic  storey  a  distant 
view  of  the  Surrey  Hills,  combined  to  pro- 
duce a  rural  as  well  as  urban  effect  to  the 


4;  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

impression  upon  my  earliest  days.  I  used 
to  watch  the  waggon  that  jogged  past  our 
door  of  an  evening,  with  its  tarpaulin  cover 
and  its  lantern  swinging  at  its  rear,  and 
thinking  how  delightful  it  would  be  to  take 
a  journey  into  the  country  lolling  inside 
this  comfortable  conveyance.  The  early 
market-carts  that  rumbled  by  of  a  morning, 
with  their  supply  of  fresh  vegetables  and 
fruit,  bringing  a  delicious  air  from  the 
region  of  meadows  full  of  buttercups  and 
daisies,  made  me  long  to  be  out  among 
the  lanes  and  fields  these  carts  came  from. 
But  even  Hyde  Park,  where  I  was  in- 
trusted to  convoy  my  younger  brothers 
and  sisters,  supplied  me  with  enjoyment 
of  those  fine  old  elm-trees,  those  stretches 
of  grass  I  beheld.  Such  things  as  half- 
penny little  mugs  of  curds  and  whey  were 
extant  in  those  days,  —  sold  near  to  the 
Park  entrance,  then  called  Cumberland 
Gate,  now  known  as  the  Marble  Arch; 
and  which  dainty  refection  seemed  prop- 
erly rustic  and  appropriate.  The  railing 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  5 

adjacent  to  the  gate  was,  at  that  period, 
permitted  to  be  strung  with  rows  of  printed 
old-fashioned  ballads,  such  as  *  Cruel  Bar- 
bara Allen,'  etc. 

To  give  an  idea  of  the  then  neighbour- 
hood, there  was  a  small  stationery  shop  in 
Quebec  Street,  kept  by  a  Miss  Lavoine, 
where  we  children  bought  slates  and  slate- 
pencils ;  and  a  certain  bakery  in  Bryan- 
ston  Street  that  had  a  curved  iron  railing 
below  its  shop  window,  which  tempted  us 
to  spend  some  of  our  pocket  money  in 
pennyworths  of  old-world  gingerbread 
figure-cakes,  in  the  shape  of  lions,  tigers, 
horses,  dogs,  cocks,  and  hens,  castles,  al- 
phabets and  other  objects,  besides  selling 
crisp  squares  of  '  parliament,'  crunched  by 
us  with  considerable  satisfaction.  A  few 
doors  farther  down  Oxford  Street  there 
was  a  grocer's  shop  kept  by  a  Mr.  Harvey, 
whose  snow-white  hair  and  jet-black  eyes 
remain  pictured  in  my  memory,  and  who 
used,  when  my  mother  bought  tea  and 
sugar  of  him,  to  make  up  a  small  packet 


6  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

of  the  caraway  comfits  that  occupied  one 
of  his  shop  windows,  together  with  heart- 
shaped  horehound,  etc.,  presenting  the 
aforesaid  packet  to  us.  We  must  have 
been  conscientiously  brought-up  little 
people  ;  for  once,  when  a  young  man  I 
had  never  seen  before  was  standing  behind 
the  counter  in  lieu  of  the  master,  and  was 
proceeding  to  make  up  the  usual  packet, 
I  said  to  him :  *  Did  Mr.  Harvey  allow 
you  to  give  us  those  sugar-plums  ? '  He 
smiled  and  replied :  '  I  am  doing  this  for 
him.  I  am  Mr.  Harvey's  son.'  I  may 
mention  here  another  instance  of  our  con- 
scientious bringing-up. 

I  went  to  a  party  of  young  people, 
where  they  were  playing  at  a  round  game 
of  cards,  and  they  asked  me  to  join  them. 
When  the  nursery-maid  came  to  fetch  me 
home,  the  lady  of  the  house  offered  me 
some  silver,  saying  :  *  Take  this  seven-and- 
sixpence,  you  have  won  it.'  *  I  thought,' 
I  replied,  '  that  we  were  playing  with  coun- 
ters; I  saw  them  on  the  table,  ma'am.  I 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  7 

did  not  know  we  were  playing  for  money. 
I  have  none,  and  could  not  have  paid  if  I 
had  lost.  Therefore  I  can't  have  won,  and 
can't  take  that  silver.'  When  I  went  home 
and  told  my  mother  what  had  happened,  she 
said  :  '  You  did  well  to  refuse  the  money, 
and  gave  the  right  reason  for  doing  so.' 

One  of  the  children's  parties  we  were 
invited  to  every  year  was  given  on  the 
Feast  of  the  Holy  Innocents  by  an  old 
French  gentleman  and  his  sister,  Mr.  and 
Miss  Lamour.  He  was  very  kind  to  chil- 
dren, though  so  notoriously  irate  at  whist 
that  we  recognised  him  many  years  after 
at  Nice  by  the  description  a  gentleman 
gave  of  him  as  the  man  who  most  lost  his 
temper  at  whist  ever  known.  But  on 
those  old-time  parties  of  the  Holy  Inno- 
cents' evening,  Mr.  Lamour  used  to  play 
the  violin  for  us  while  we  danced,  and  en- 
couraged us  to  sing  after  helping  round 
high  piles  of  muffins  and  crumpets,  and 
finally  sending  each  little  child  home  with 
a  packet  of  cakes,  and  almonds  and  raisins. 


8  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Another  of  our  urban  delights  in  those 
days  was  watching,  from  the  window  of 
our  front-parlour  nursery, , '  the  soldiers ' 
as  they  passed  by  from  the  barracks  in 
Portman  Street  to  parade  in  Hyde  Park. 
First  came  a  magnificent  and  imperious 
drum-major,  who,  notwithstanding  the 
importance  with  which  he  wielded  his  tall 
staff  of  office,  seeming  solemnly  to  pick  his 
way  with  it,  used  to  cast  a  smiling  eye 
toward  the  group  of  young  faces  that 
peered  admiringly  over  the  low,  green 
blind  at  him  and  his  brilliant  troop  pre- 
ceded by  its  band  of  music. 

One  of  the  chief  figures  among  these 
was  a  black  man,  who  brandished  and 
clashed  a  pair  of  dazzling  cymbals  ;  and 
another  was  also  a  black,  who  upheld 
a  kind  of  oriental  standard  that  had 
horse  tails  dangling  therefrom,  and  jing- 
ling bells  pendant  from  a  central  silver 
crescent. 

I  do  not  know  whether  these  figures 
still  form  part  of  the  British  military  band, 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  9 

but  they  impressively  dazzle  and  give  pic- 
turesqueness  to  my  memory  of  it  in  that 
epoch.  They  add  brilliancy  to  those 
mornings,  and  strengthen  the  contrast 
they  afford  with  the  dimness  of  the  pre- 
vious evenings,  for  Oxford  Street  was  then 
lighted  at  night  by  oil  lamps,  gas  lighting 
not  being  invented. 

Opposite  to  our  house  was  Camelford 
House,  where  Prince  Leopold  and  Prin- 
cess Charlotte  resided  when  in  town,  and 
a  pleasant  sight  it  used  to  be  to  me  to 
watch  the  Prince  with  the  Princess  beside 
him  —  he  driving  his  curricle,  with  its 
glittering  steel  bar  across,  the  prancing 
horses  and  the  outriders  in  their  green  and 
gold  Coburg  livery  —  setting  forth  to 
take  an  airing  round  Hyde  Park.  Once  I 
saw  her  going  to  Court,  the  indispensable 
hoop  tilted  sideways  to  enable  her  to  take 
her  seat  in  the  carriage,  and  the  equally 
indispensable  huge  plume  of  feathers 
then  required  for  Court  costume.  When 
her  early  death  threw  all  England  into 


io  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

mourning  —  for  no  one,  however  poor, 
but  had  at  least  a  scrap  of  crape  about  them 
—  my  father  set  to  music  Leigh  Hunt's 
touching  verses,  — '  His  departed  love  to 
Prince  Leopold.' 

My  two  brothers,  Alfred  and  Edward, 
when  quite  little  boys,  were  sent  to  a  Mr. 
Foothead's  in  the  New  Road,  and  I  used 
to  escort  them  there,  we  three  trundling 
our  hoops  along  Baker  Street,  after 
stopping  to  peep  through  the  railings 
round  the  gardens  of  Montague  House 
and  think  of  the  legend  about  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague's finding  her  son  (whom  she  had 
lost  when  straying  in  the  streets)  in  the 
person  of  a  little  sooty  climbing  boy,  who 
had  been  stolen  by  a  master  chimney- 
sweep, had  been  unwittingly  sent  to  the 
very  house  where  he  was  born,  that  he 
might  sweep  its  chimneys,  but  had,  by 
some  subtlety  of  instinctive  sympathy, 
crept  into  one  of  its  beds  and  was  found 
there  by  his  own  mother. 

Our  parents  were  bountiful  in  providing 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  11 

us  with  books ;  plain,  unornate  books,  — 
very  unlike  the  present  juvenile  volumes, 
full  of  highly-coloured  illustrations,  often 
scarcely  read  by  their  young  recipients,  so 
lavishly  are  these  gifts  bestowed  by  fond 
relations  and  friends,  —  but  fewer  in  num- 
ber, and  diligently  perused  over  and  over 
again,  reread  and  treasured  by  us  young 
Novellos.  First,  there  was  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld's  '  Charles-Book  '  (as  we  used  to  call 
it);  then  came  Miss  Edgeworth's  '  Frank,' 
*  Rosamond  '  and  '  Parents'  Assistant ' ; 
Day's  '  Sandford  and  Merton  ' ;  the  wise 
and  cheerful  '  Evenings  at  Home  ' ;  '  A 
Visit  for  a  Week ' ;  *  The  Juvenile  Trav- 
ellers ' ;  '  The  100  Wonders  of  the  World  ' ; 
'  The  Book  of  Trades '  and  *  ^sop's  Fables.' 
Often,  after  a  hard  day's  teaching,  my 
father  used  to  have  his  breakfast  in  bed 
next  morning,  when  we  children  were 
allowed  to  scramble  up  to  the  counterpane 
and  lie  around  him  to  see  what  new  book 
he  had  bought  for  us,  and  listen  to  his  de- 
scription and  explanation  of  it.  Never  can 


12  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

I  forget  the  boundless  joy  and  interest  with 
which  I  heard  him  tell  about  the  contents  of 
two  volumes  he  had  just  brought  home,  as 
he  showed  me  the  printed  pictures  in  them. 
They  were  an  early  edition  of  '  Lamb's 
Tales  from  Shakespeare.'  And  what  a 
vast  world  of  new  ideas  and  new  delights 
that  opened  to  me!  —  a  world  in  which  I 
have  ever  since  much  dwelt,  and  always 
with  supreme  pleasure  and  admiration. 

On  Sundays  I  knelt  beside  my  mother  in 
the  Portuguese  Embassy's  Chapel,  South 
Street,  Grosvenor  Square,  where  my  father 
was  organist  for  six-and-twenty  years.  A 
central  figure  in  the  picture  that  small 
sanctuary  has  painted  on  my  memory  is 
that  of  my  godfather,  the  Reverend  Wil- 
liam Victor  Fryer,  as  he  officiated  at  the  al- 
tar, irradiated  by  the  light  from  the  tall  wax 
candles  thereon,  and  when  he  stood  in  the 
pulpit  delivering  the  sermon.  His  attitude 
here  was  simple  yet  impressive,  and  it  is 
the  attitude  represented  in  the  pencil  por- 
trait of  him,  drawn  by  Wageman,  who  was 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  13 

famous  for  his  correct  likenesses.  I  have 
that  portrait  still,  and  it  shows  Mr.  Fryer 
standing  with  raised  hand,  holding  a  cam- 
bric pocket-handkerchief,  his  most  usual 
position  while  preaching.  It  was  from 
the  Reverend  William  Victor  Fryer  that  I 
obtained  my  second  name,  Victoria;  and 
from  my  mother  my  first  name,  Mary. 
To  him  my  father  dedicated  his  first  work, 
'  Sacred  Music/  in  two  vols. ;  and  this,  with 
several  Masses  composed  by  himself,  be- 
sides introducing  Mozart's  and  Haydn's 
Masses  for  the  first  time  in  England,  were 
performed  at  South  Street  chapel  by  my 
father.  His  organ-playing  attained  such 
renown  that  it  attracted  numerous  persons, 
even  among  the  nobility,  whose  carriages 
waited  for  them  outside  while  they  lingered 
to  the  end  of  the  service,  and  after ;  for  it 
was  playfully  said  that  his  '  voluntaries '  — 
intended  to  *  play  out '  the  congregation  — 
on  the  contrary,  kept  them  in,  listening  to 
the  very  last  note. 

The  evening  parties  at  240  Oxford  Street 


14  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

were  marked  by  a  judicious  economy 
blended  with  the  utmost  refinement  and 
good  taste;  the  supper  refection  was  of 
the  simplest,  —  Elia's  *  Chapter  on  Ears  ' 
eloquently  recording  the  'friendly  supper- 
tray  '  and  draught  of  true  '^iitheran  Beer  ' 
which  succeeded  to  the  feasts  of  music 
provided  by  the  host's  playing  on  the 
small  but  fine-toned  chamber  organ,  which 
occupied  one  end  of  the  graceful  drawing- 
room.  This  was  papered  with  a  delicately- 
tinted  pink  colour,  showing  to  advantage 
the  choice  water-colour  paintings  by  Varley, 
Copley,  Fielding,  Havell  and  Cristall  that 
hung  around.  These  artists  were  all  per- 
sonally known  to  Vincent  Novello,  and 
were  not  unfrequent  visitors  on  these  oc- 
casions. The  floor  was  covered  by  a  plain 
grey  drugget,  bordered  by  a  beautiful  gar- 
land of  grapes  and  vine-leaves,  designed 
and  worked  by  my  mother  herself.  Be- 
sides the  guests  above  named,  there  were 
often  present  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb, 
Leigh  Hunt,  John  Keats  and  ever-wel- 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  15 

come,  ever  young-hearted  Charles  Cowden- 
Clarke.     My  enthusiasm — child  as  I  was 

—  for    these    distinguished    visitors    was 
curiously  strong.     I   can  remember   once 
creeping  round   to   where    Leigh    Hunt's 
hand  rested  on  the  back  of  the  sofa  upon 
which  he  sat,  and  giving  it  a  quiet  kiss, — 
because    I  heard  he   was  a  poet.     And  I 
have  even  now  full  recollection  of  the  rev- 
erent look  with   which    I   regarded   John 
Keats,  as  he  leaned  against  the  side  of  the 
organ,  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  my 
father's  music.     Keats's  favourite  position 

—  one  foot  raised  on  his  other  knee  — still 
remains  imprinted  on  my  memory ;  as  also 
does  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  half-reclining 
on  some  chairs  that  formed  a  couch  for  him 
when    he    was   staying   at    Leigh    Hunt's 
house,   just   before    leaving    England    for 
Italy.     Another  poet  reminiscence  I  have, 

—  of  jumping  up  to  peer  over  the  parlour 
window-blind  to  have  a  peep  at  Shelley, 
who  I  had  heard  was  leaving,  after  a  visit 
he  had  just  paid   to   my  father  upstairs. 


16  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Well  was  I  rewarded,  for,  as  he  passed 
before  our  house,  he  gave  a  glance  up  at 
it,  and  I  beheld  his  seraph-like  face,  with 
its  blue  eyes,  and  aureoled  by  its  golden 
hair. 

An  enchanting  treat  of  those  childish 
years  was  what  we  called  *  a  day  in  the 
fields.'  Our  place  of  assembling  was  gen- 
erally some  spot  between  Hampstead  and 
Highgate  (no  Regent's  Park  or  Zoological 
Gardens  then  in  existence !)  and  there  we 
met,  by  appointment,  Leigh  Hunt  and  his 
family,  the  Gliddons  and  their  families,  our 
company  being  often  enhanced  in  bright- 
ness by  the  advent  from  town  of  lively 
Henry  Robertson  and  ever-young  Charles 
Cowden-Clarke.  The  picnic  part  of  our 
entertainment  was  cold  lamb  and  salad 
prepared  by  my  mother,  she  being  an  ac- 
knowledged adept  in  the  dressing  of  this 
latter.  Other  toothsome  cates  supple- 
mented the  out-of-door  dinner,  while  more 
intellectual  food  was  not  wanting.  Leigh 
Hunt  once  read  out  to  us  Dogberry's 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  17 

'Charge  to  the  Watchmen/  and  another 
time  gave  us  the  two  scenes,  from  Sheri- 
dan's '  Rivals/  between  Sir  Anthony  and 
his  son.  Leigh  Hunt's  reading  aloud 
was  the  perfection  of  spirited  perusal. 
He  possessed  innate  fascination  of  voice, 
look  and  manner.  While  he  was  in  Horse- 
monger  Lane  Jail  for  the  libel  on  the 
Prince  Regent,  Mr.  John  Clarke,  master  of 
the  school  at  Enfield,  in  accordance  with 
his  son  Charles's  wish,  used  to  send  by 
him  fresh  vegetables  and  fruit  to  Leigh 
Hunt  from  the  Enfield  garden.  This  was 
the  school  where  John  Keats  was  educated, 
and  where  he  learned  to  love  poetry  from 
his  '  Friend  Charles,'  as  he  styles  him  in 
his  noble  *  Epistle  to  Charles  Cowden- 
Clarke.' 

When  Leigh  Hunt  left  prison,  my 
father  asked  him  to  sit  for  his  portrait  to 
Wageman,  —  a  dearly-prized  portrait  that 
I  still  have  near  me  in  my  own  room.  It 
is  the  very  best  likeness  I  have  ever  seen 
of  him  ;  and  well  do  I  remember  his  poet 


1 8  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

face  and  his  bent  head,  with  its  jet-black 
hair,  as  he  .wrote  his  name  beneath  the 
pencil  drawing. 

During  our  childhood  we  had  some 
healthful  changes  to  other  air  than  that  of 
London.  On  one  occasion  my  parents 
took  us,  by  one  of  the  earliest  steam-vessels 
that  plied  on  the  Thames  (called  a  Mar- 
gate Hoy),  for  a  short  trip  to  the  seaside. 
As  this  steamer  left  the  London  Docks,  I 
heard  a  man  in  a  wherry  bawl  out  jeer- 
ingly,  —  *  I  say !  bile  up  yere  kettle ! '  We 
had  made  some  way  down  the  river  when 
a  portion  of  the  machinery  broke,  and 
there  was  much  confusion  and  alarm  on 
deck  among  the  passengers.  My  dear 
mother  bade  me  hide  my  head  in  her  lap 
and  remain  still.  I  did  so,  and  she  praised 
me  for  my  quiet  and  obedience.  The 
vessel  managed  to  reach  the  shore ;  we 
disembarked ;  and  I  remember  my  father 
carrying  the  then  baby  in  his  arms  while 
we  all  walked  across  the  fields  towards 
Milton  or  Settingbourne,  at  one  of  which 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  19 

places,  on  the  Kentish  High  Road,  we  had 
to  stay  till  next  day,  when  we  could  pro- 
ceed on  our  journey  by  the  stage-coach. 
We  were  still  young  children  when  our 
parents  removed  from  240  Oxford  Street 
to  8  Percy  Street,  Bedford  Square;  and 
soon  after  our  removal  thither,  my  mother 
resolved  to  take  us  to  Boulogne-sur-Mer 
for  a  thorough  '  sea  change,'  and  in  order 
that  we  might  gain  some  idea  of  French 
and  French  environments.  We  travelled 
by  the  stage-coach  to  Dover  (there  were 
no  railways  then),  but  when  we  arrived 
there,  it  was  found  that  the  wind  did  not 
serve  for  the  sailing-packet  to  cross  the 
Channel,  so  we  had  to  stay  for  three  days 
at  an  inn,  till  we  could  embark.  When  we 
reached  our  destination,  we  boarded  in  the 
house  of  a  very  stout,  good-natured  woman, 
with  numerous  stalwart  sons,  —  fishermen 
all.  Halfway  up  the  Grande  Rue,  leading 
from  the  lower  town  to  the  high  town, 
there  was  a  school  kept  by  a  Mr.  Bonnefoy, 
who  had  a  comfortable,  motherly  woman 


20  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

for  a  wife ;  and  she  not  only  brought  up 
well  her  own  children,  but  took  kindly  care 
of  the  schoolboys.  Here  my  mother  de- 
cided to  leave  my  eldest  brother,  Alfred, 
for  a  twelvemonth,  that  he  might  learn  to 
speak  the  language ;  and  so  thoroughly  was 
this  accomplished,  that  he  spoke  it  fluently, 
and  even,  he  said,  began  to  think  in  French, 
thus  familiar  had  it  become.  When  we 
other  children  returned  home,  dear,  kind 
Mary  Lamb  offered  to  give  me  lessons 
in  Latin,  and  to  teach  me  to  read  verse 
properly  —  an  offer  eagerly  accepted  for  me 
by  my  father  and  mother.  I  used,  there- 
fore, to  trudge  regularly,  on  appointed 
mornings,  to  Great  Russell  Street,  Covent 
Garden,  where  the  Lambs  then  lived ;  and 
one  morning,  when  I  entered  the  room,  I 
saw  a  lady  sitting  with  Miss  Lamb,  whom 
I  heard  say,  —  *  Oh,  I  am  now  nothing  but 
a  stocking-mending  old  woman.'  This 
lady  had  straight,  black  brows,  and  looked 
still  young,  I  thought,  and  had  a  very  in- 
telligent, expressive  countenance.  When 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  21 

she  went  away,  Miss  Lamb  said,  — «  That 
is  the  excellent  actress,  Miss  Kelly.  Look 
at  her  well,  Victoria,  for  she  is  a  woman  to 
remember  having  seen/  And,  indeed,  this 
was  no  other  than  the  admirable  artiste  to 
whom  Charles  Lamb  addressed  his  two 
sonnets  ;  the  one  beginning,  — 

'  You  are  not  Kelly  of  the  common  strain/ 

and  the  other,  on  her  performance  of  *  The 
Blind  Boy/  beginning,  — 

*  Rare  artist,  who  with  half  thy  tools  or  none 
Canst  execute  with  ease  thy  curious  art.' 

On  a  subsequent  morning,  a  boy  came 
rushing  into  the  room  and  dashed  through 
the  repetition  of  his  Latin  lesson  with  a 
rapidity  that  dazzled  me,  and  fired  me  with 
ambition  to  repeat  my  conjugations  in  the 
same  brilliant  style.  When  the  boy  was 
gone  —  it  was  Hazlitt's  son,  whom  Mary 
Lamb  also  taught  his  Latin  grammar  —  I 
began  trying  to  scamper  through  my  lesson, 
but  Mary  Lamb  wisely  stopped  me,  and 
advised  me  not  to  attempt  what  was  not  in 


22  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

my  sober,  steady  way.  She  said,  *  It  is 
natural  to  him,  but  not  to  you.  Best  be 
natural  in  all  you  do,  and  in  all  you  at- 
tempt.' Her  reading  poetry  was  beauti- 
fully natural  and  unaffected ;  so  that  her 
mode  of  beginning  Milton's '  Paradise  Lost ' 
for  me  still  remains  on  my  mind's  ear.  In 
curious  contrast  with  Mary  Lamb's  lessons 
were  some  that  were  given,  once  upon  a 
time,  when  a  certain  old  Scotch  gentleman 
was  engaged  to  teach  Latin  and  arithmetic 
to  my  brothers,  Alfred  and  Edward,  I  being 
allowed  to  share  in  the  instruction  received 
from  him.  This  Mr.  Ferguson  was  a 
placidly  pedantic  person,  and  when  the 
servant-maid  knelt  down  near  him  to  lay 
the  fire  ready  for  lighting,  he  leaned  down 
and  told  her  how  she  could  best  place  the 
coals  'so  that  the  sulphureous  particles 
should  soonest  ignite.' 

A  very  pleasant  incident  was  enjoyed  by 
me  in  a  few  weeks'  sojourn  I  had  at  a 
farmhouse  near  Tunbridge,  whither  my 
parents  sent  me,  they  knowing  the  worthy 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  23 

people  whose  farm  it  was.  Delightful 
were  those  early  mornings  when  I  was  de- 
spatched to  another  farm,  about  half-a-mile 
off,  that  I  might  drink  new  milk  from  the 
cow,  after  a  walk  through  green  lanes  be- 
fore breakfast.  In  those  matutinal  walks  I 
was  invariably  accompanied  by  a  kitten, 
who  had  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  or  who,  per- 
haps, knew  that  she  was  to  have  a  saucer 
of  milk  given  to  her  when  we  arrived.  I 
remember  one  morning  a  man  on  horse- 
back stopped  his  steed  to  look  with  an 
amused  laugh  at  a  little  girl  followed  by  a 
kitten,  like  a  dog,  along  a  lane,  the  two 
quite  alone  in  that  quiet  spot.  Nutting 
and  blackberrying  for  hours  of  an  afternoon 
were  delights  to  me ;  and  fetching  up  the 
ducks  before  nightfall  was  a  grand  privilege 
allotted  to  me.  Glorious  were  those  bak- 
ing-days, when  feasts  of  new-made  bread, 
a  Kentish  delicacy  called  'huff kins,' — a  sort 
of  muffin  plentifully  buttered  and  eaten 
hot, —  and  a  superb  pork  pie,  containing 
alternate  layers  of  potato,  sage,  and  dairy- 


24  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

fed  pork,  formed  the  delicious  periodi- 
cally-appointed cates.  But  above  all  other 
joys  to  me  was  the  finding,  in  an  out-of- 
the-way  corner  of  the  farmhouse,  an  old 
edition  of  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison.'  The 
book  was  printed  in  double  columns,  and 
had  pictures  in  it.  One  which  particularly 
interested  me  was  that  where  Sir  Hargrave 
Pollixfen  is  carrying  off  Miss  Byron  after 
the  masquerade,  bearing  her  forcibly  into  a 
chariot,  meaning  to  marry  her  against  her 
will.  Ever  after  that  first  introduction  to 
the  story,  the  book,  when  I  became  allowed 
to  read  it,  remained  a  favourite  with  me, 
and  I  have  often  been  conscious  of  wishing 
that  its  many  volumes  were  as  many  more. 
From  Percy  Street  my  parents  removed 
to  an  old-fashioned  house  and  garden  on 
Shacklewell  Green ;  and  my  two  elder  bro- 
thers were  sent  to  Mr.  Yule's  academy, 
near  at  hand.  Here  my  brother  Alfred's 
familiarity  with  French  stood  him  in  good 
stead,  for  he  not  only  translated  with  ease 
and  correctness  the  page  of  '  Recueil 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  25 

Choisi '  assigned  to  him  and  to  his  school- 
fellows as  their  daily  task ;  but  *  the  boys ' 
used  to  get  possession  of  *  Novello's  slate ' 
and  copy  out  his  translation  as  their  own. 

It  was  while  we  lived  at  Shacklewell  that 
my  father  and  mother  received  letters  from 
Leigh  Hunt  (who  was  then  in  Italy),  intro- 
ducing the  widowed  Mrs.  Shelley  and  Mrs. 
Williams,  who  were  returning  to  England 
after  their  terrible  bereavement.  He  de- 
scribed Mrs.  Wollstonecraft's  daughter  as 
1  inclining,  like  a  wise  and  kind  being,  to 
receive  all  the  consolation  which  the  good 
and  kind  can  give  her ; '  adding,  '  She  is  as 
quiet  as  a  mouse,  and  will  drink  in  as  much 
Mozart  and  Paesiello  as  you  choose  to 
afford  her.'  Accordingly,  many  were  the 
occasions  when  delicious  hours  of  music 
and  quiet,  but  animated  and  interesting, 
talk  were  planned  for  the  two  beautiful 
young  women  able  and  willing  to  enjoy 
such  *  delights,'  and  choosing  not  unwisely 
'to  interpose  them  oft.'  To  meet  thus 
were  frequently  invited  my  uncle,  Francis 


26  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Novello,  who  had  a  charming  bass  voice 
(he  was  the  bass  singer  at  South  Street 
Chapel  during  the  period  when  his  brother 
Vincent  was  organist  there) ;  Henry  Rob- 
ertson, as  excellent  a  tenor  singer  as  he 
was  excellent  in  lively  companionship  ;  my 
father's  pupil,  Edward  Holmes,  a  sterling 
musician  and  admirable  judge  of  literature, 
moreover,  a  great  admirer  of  the  two  lady 
guests,  and  Charles  Cowden-Clarke,  who 
shared  in  all  these  attainments  and  predi- 
lections, with  his  never-failing,  youthful 
enthusiasm.  Mornings  and  afternoons 
witnessed  numerous  *  goings  through '  of 
Mozart's  '  Cosi  fan  tutte,'  '  Don  Giovanni,' 
'  Nozze  di  Figaro,'  and  various  songs  of 
Paesiello,  besides  other  choice  compositions 
by  other  composers ;  and  not  a  few  even- 
ings were  spent  by  these  well-pleased  asso- 
ciates in  prolonged  discourse  on  attractive 
topics,  till  —  forgetful  of  the  lapse  of  time 
—  the  ladies  declared  they  '  must  go,'  and 
were  accompanied  back  to  town  by  our 
gentleman  guests,  only  too  pleased  to  be 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  27 

their  escort.  It  was  at  this  period  that 
Mrs.  Shelley  wrote  my  name  on  a  copy  of 
her  *  Frankenstein '  which  I  had  already 
devoured  when  given  to  me  by  my  father, 
but  which  I  ardently  desired  should  have 
the  glory  of  her  name  and  mine  together 
on  its  blank  page.  My  father  was  her  de- 
clared adorer,  and  she  his,  while  Edward 
Holmes  was  equally  unreserved  in  his  be- 
witchment of  her ;  and  they  both  united  in 
attributing  to  Charles  Cowden-Clarke  a  de- 
cided enthralment  by  the  graces  of  Mrs. 
Williams.  Playful  and  mutual  gaiety  was 
the  result ;  while  my  dear  mother  joined  in 
the  jest,  —  even  her  husband's  and  Mrs. 
Shelley's  avowed  interchange  of  fascination. 
The  Italian  form  of  name  evidently  lin- 
gered musically  in  Mrs.  Shelley's  ear,  for 
she  invariably  addressed  my  father  as 
1  Vincenzo,'  and  his  brother  as  *  Francesco.' 
She  gave  my  father  a  tress  of  her  mother's 
hair,  knowing  that  he  had  always  had  a 
great  admiration  for  Mary  Wollstonecraft, 
although  without  being  personally  ac- 


28  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

quainted  with  her.  This  tress  Mary  Shel- 
ley accompanied  by  an  affectionate  little 
note  to  my  father,  in  Italian,  which  tress 
and  note  are  still  in  my  possession,  care- 
fully preserved  under  glass,  and  treasured, 
among  other  relics  of  the  kind,  in  a  collec- 
tion of  hair  I  have. 

We  were  still  residents  at  Shacklewell 
Green,  when  my  parents  resolved  to  send 
me  for  a  time  to  Boulogne-sur-Mer,  that  I 
might  acquire  the  French  language ;  and 
they  confided  me  to  the  care  of  the  friendly 
and  estimable  Bonnefoy  family.  Old  Mon- 
sieur Bonnefoy  was  one  of  the  most  excel- 
lent of  tutors,  and  certainly  one  of  the  most 
simple-minded  of  men.  The  naive  way  in 
which  he  allowed  himself  to  be  supposed 
utterly  unaware  of  the  preparations  for  a 
due  celebration  of  his  birthday  (which  was 
kept,  according  to  continental  custom,  on 
his  namesake  Saint's  day,  the  feast  of  St. 
Pierre)  was  quite  remarkable.  '  The  boys' 
were  allowed  to  go  into  the  fields  and 
gather  armfuls  of  Marguerites  without 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  29 

Monsieur  Bonnefoy  noticing  that  his 
scholars  did  not  come  to  school  at  the  usual 
hour;  his  entering  the  school-room  with 
complete  ignorance  of  the  boy  mounted  on 
a  chair  behind  the  door,  ready  to  drop  a 
daisy  crown  on  his  master's  head,  and 
wholly  unprepared  for  the  shout  of  ap- 
plause that  was  to  burst  from  the  assembled 
concourse  of  scholars  when  the  coronation 
feat  was  accomplished,  formed  a  triumph 
of  utter  unconsciousness.  He  had,  on 
ordinary  occasions,  what  he  considered  an 
ingenious  contrivance  for  obtaining  atten- 
tion when  he  addressed  the  boys,  by 
twitching  a  string,  attached  to  a  ball,  that 
lifted  a  moveable  cover,  beneath  which 
appeared  the  word  *  Silence  ! '  and  though 
I  believe  it  rarely  obtained  the  desired 
object  more  effectually  than  a  similar 
sound  of  bell-jangling  performed  in  the 
French  House  of  Parliament  (which  I 
once  witnessed  when  in  Paris),  yet  Monsieur 
Bonnefoy  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with 
the  effect  he  produced  in  his  schoolroom. 


30  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

It  was  between  the  morning  and  afternoon 
hours  of  school  that  my  kind  old  master 
gave  me  his  daily  lesson  in  French,  and 
very  pleasant  he  made  these  lessons,  giv- 
ing me  '  dictation  '  from  small  entertaining 
anecdotes  and  short  stories,  contained  in  a 
book  he  chose  for  the  purpose,  besides 
imparting  the  drier  instruction  of  grammar, 
spelling,  etc.,  etc.  My  parents  had  thought- 
fully taken  a  season  ticket  of  admission  to 
the  theatre  for  Monsieur  Bonnefoy  and  for 
me,  as  one  of  the  very  best  means  of  my 
gaining  familiarity  with  colloquial  French  ; 
so  my  old  master  and  I  used  to  trudge  to- 
gether, very  willingly,  to  the  playhouse 
whenever  there  was  performance  there. 
Thus  I  had  the  advantage  of  an  introduc- 
tion to  Beaumarchais'  '  Manage  de  Figaro/ 
and  to  some  of  Moliere's  fine  comedies, 
besides  other  lighter  and  shorter  dramatic 
pieces.  There  was  an  actor  of  the  name 
of  Duhez,  who  played  admirably  the  part 
of  Alceste  in  Moliere's  *  Misanthrope/  and 
whose  look  and  manner  still  remain  visible 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  31 

to  my  memory,  while  the  recollection  of 
such  amusing  trifles  as  '  Mes  derniers  vingt 
souSy  '  Le  plus  beau  jour  de  ma  vie}  etc.  etc., 
leave  the  impression  of  several  agreeably- 
spent  evenings.  On  those  evenings  when 
the  theatre  was  not  open,  Monsieur  Bonne- 
foy  generally  took  me  a  walk  up  to  the  high 
town,  and  we  had  pleasant  strolls  round  the 
ramparts  there,  which  commanded  fine 
views  and  pure  air,  and  where  he  used  to 
talk  incessantly,  telling  me  much  of  the 
time  of  his  juvenile  days,  when  there  was 
talk  of  an  intended  invasion  of  England  by 
Napoleon  Buonaparte,  and  when  he,  young 
Bonnefoy,  served  for  a  time  on  board  one 
of  the  frigates  then  lying  off  Boulogne,  and 
of  his  own  skill  in  navigation,  acquired  even 
in  that  brief  service.  He  was  naively 
proud  of  his  knowledge,  whatever  its  kind, 
and  as  naively  expressed  his  pride  thereon. 
On  one  occasion,  when  my  father's  pupil, 
Edward  Holmes,  paid  me  a  visit  at  Bou- 
logne, on  his  way  to  Paris,  I  remember 
Monsieur  Bonnefoy 's  indulging  in  openly- 


32  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

shown,  amused  scorn  at  the  Englishman's 
astronomical  ignorance  by  looking  for  the 
rising  moon  in  the  wrong  quarter  of  the 
heavens.  From  our  walks  round  the  ram- 
parts of  the  high  town,  we  passed  by  a  cer- 
tain bookseller's  shop,  kept  by  a  friend  of 
Monsieur  Bonnefoy's  ;  and  he  never  failed 
to  stop  and  have  a  chat  with  this  friend, 
who  was  a  lively,  laughing  man,  and  who 
used  to  show  us  any  new  works  that  he 
had  added  to  his  store.  My  days  at  Bou- 
logne were  passed  most  pleasantly  and 
profitably  as  regarded  my  parents'  views 
in  sending  me  there,  My  health  was 
strengthened,  and  my  appetite  was  more 
vigorous  than  I  have  ever  experienced  it 
elsewhere.  Early  every  morning  I  accom- 
panied Madame  Bonnefoy  to  the  market- 
place, which  occupied  a  broad  space  in 
front  of  the  Cath'edrak.  It  formed  a 
brilliant  and  animated  scene,  —  the  peasant 
women  with  their  many-coloured  costumes, 
the  fishwomen  with  their  baskets  slung  at 
their  backs,  their  high  white  caps,  long 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  33 

gold  earrings  (some  mere  dangling  pen- 
dants, others  formed  like  acorns),  their 
short  petticoats  and  wooden  shoes,  —  all 
these  people  chattering  and  screaming  in 
broad  patois  at  the  very  top  of  their  voices. 
Amidst  them  Madame  Bonnefoy  good- 
humouredly  made  her  way,  steadily  making 
her  purchases  for  the  day's  consumption, 
piling  into  a  large  basket,  carried  by  one 
of  the  ever  ready  jeunes  filles,  at  hand  for 
that  purpose.  Eggs  bought  by  the  quar- 
ter-hundred at  a  time,  butter  in  gigantic 
pats  of  the  size  and  shape  of  a  pine-apple, 
fresh  vegetables  and  meat  for  the  pot-au- 
feu,  set  on  to  seethe  and  stew  as  soon  as 
we  went  back  to  the  house.  Madame 
Bonnefoy  was  a  super-excellent  cook,  and 
she  devoted  her  culinary  skill  to  the  well- 
being  of  her  household.  At  stated  periods 
she  made  enormous  loaves  of  pain  de 
menage,  huge  slices  of  which,  buttered 
with  unsparing  hand,  I  used  to  dispose  of 
with  marvellous  gusto.  During  the  fore- 
noon I  studied  my  lessons  ready  for  my 

3 


34  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

mid-day  tuition  from  Monsieur  Bonnefoy  ; 
and  in  the  evening  came  the  theatre,  or  the 
walk  and  talk  on  the  ramparts  with  him. 

On  my  return  to  England,  it  was  agreed 
that  I  should  begin  my  intended  pro- 
fession—  that  of  a  governess;  and  an 
engagement  was  soon  found  for  me  in  the 
family  of  a  gentleman  and  lady  named 
Purcell,  four  of  whose  children  I  was  to 
teach.  The  '  four '  proved  really  to  be 
five,  for  the  youngest  was  oftener  sent  to 
the  schoolroom  than  kept  in  the  nursery. 
However,  nothing  could  be  kinder  to  me 
than  the  lady  of  the  house.  I  was  taken 
down,  late  one  evening,  in  their  chariot  to 
their  country  residence  at  Cranford,  and  it 
was  a  curious  experience  to  find  myself 
seated  in  the  dark,  with  perfect  strangers 
beside  me,  and  being  driven  to  a  spot  I 
had  never  seen.  But  when  I  saw  it  next 
morning  I  found  it  a  most  attractive  cot- 
tage orn'e.  Its  ground-floor  rooms  were 
fitted  up  in  the  tastefullest  style,  one  with 
a  trellised  papering  of  honeysuckles,  in- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  35 

terspersed  with  mirrors  let  into  the  wall; 
another  with  roses,  chandeliers,  girandoles, 
and  so  on,  that  took  my  girlish  fancy  im- 
mensely. Before  seeing  this  pretty  in- 
terior I  had  been  into  the  garden,  for  I 
was  always  an  early  riser ;  and,  moreover, 
I  wanted  a  quiet  hour  to  make  myself 
acquainted  with  my  new  surroundings,  and 
also  to  look  over  the  lessons  I  should 
have  to  give  my  young  pupils  during  the 
day.  Even  thus  immediately  I  experi- 
enced the  kindness  of  my  lady-employer; 
for  when  she  learned  that  I  had  asked 
whether  I  might  eat  an  apple  that  I  found 
fallen  on  the  grass,  she  gave  me  leave  to 
take  an  apple  from  the  tree  whenever  I 
felt  inclined  to  eat  one  before  breakfast. 
So  young  was  I,  that  I  was  no  more  than 
two  years  older  than  my  eldest  pupil,  and 
I  soon  became  popular  with  her  and  her 
brothers  when  they  found  that,  after 
lessons  were  over,  I  used  to  tell  them  stor- 
ies and  even  made  a  small  theatre  for  them, 
with  books  stuck  up  for  side-scenes,  and 


36  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

paper  dolls  for  the  actors  and  actresses. 
One  of  these  paper  performers  became  so 
great  a  favourite  with  the  children  that 
they  called  her  *  Norah '  (she  generally 
represented  some  faithful  nurse  or  equally 
estimable  character),  and  invariably  gave 
her  a  round  of  applause  when  she  made 
her  appearance.  The  fame  of  these  theat- 
rical entertainments  reaching  the  ears  of 
the  children's  mamma,  she  condescended 
to  be  present  at  one  of  them,  and  gave  her 
hearty  approval.  One  of  my  chief  anx- 
ieties while  I  was  a  governess  was  lest  my 
pianoforte  teaching  and  playing  should 
not  fulfil  the  expectation  of  my  employers ; 
for  whenever  I  was  requested  to  come  up 
to  the  drawing-room  and  play  a  duet 
with  either  of  my  pupils,  the  second  one 
always  executed  her  part  with  unusual 
carelessness,  infinitely  less  well  than  she 
played  at  other  times.  I  remember  espe- 
cially one  evening  when  I  suffered  an 
agony  of  nervousness  while  playing  with 
Miss  Celia  an  arrangement  for  four  hands 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  37 

of  the  fine  overture  to  Weber's '  Freischlitz ' 
(which  overture,  by-the-bye,  had  the  un- 
precedented compliment  of  being  in- 
variably encored  at  the  theatre  this 
first  season  of  the  opera's  being  brought 
out  in  London),  for  we  both  played  so 
miserably  that  I  pictured  to  myself  the 
company  in  the  drawing-room  saying, 
'  Can  this  be  Vincent  Novello's  daughter  ?' 
On  the  approach  of  winter,  the  family 
returned  to  town  and  occupied  their  house 
in  Montague  Square.  This  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  me,  for  I  was  nearer  home 
and  I  could  have  news  of  my  dear  ones 
often.  My  father  and  mother  indulged 
me  with  frequent  letters,  though  at  that 
time  the  postage  of  a  letter  from  even  so 
near  a  place  as  Shacklewell  to  London 
was  actually  three-pence  !  But  what  trea- 
ures  of  parental  tenderness  and,  fond  en- 
couragement those  letters  were.  One  of 
them  from  my  father  and  one  from  my 
mother  I  have  still,  I  'm  grateful  to  say. 
These  letters  used  to  be  brought  into  the 


38  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

school-room  for  me  by  Joe,  a  black  ser- 
vant, who  had  been  a  devotedly-attached 
attendant  upon  Mrs.  Purcell  when  she  was 
a  young  child  in  the  West  Indies,  and  she 
had  brought  him  with  her  to  Europe,  where 
she  retained  him  in  her  service  as  footman. 
He  was  an  excellent  fellow,  sweet-natured 
and  kindly.  When  he  entered  the  school- 
room with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  his  white 
teeth  would  gleam  through  his  grinning 
lips,  his  eyes  would  sparkle  with  gladness 
knowing  that  he  brought  ,me  happiness 
in  this  missive  from  my  parents.  It  was 
Joe  whom  his  mistress  sent  to  attend 
me  when  she  wished  that  I  should  go  to 
the  evening  services  of  Compline  and 
Tenebrae  at  South  Street  Chapel,  as  well 
as  accompanying  the  children  to  Mass 
and  Vespers  there ;  and  I  remember  how 
odd  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  followed  in 
the  street  by  a  footman. 

But  besides  my  letters  from  home  came 
another  great  and  unexpected  joy  to  me, 
in  the  shape  of  visits  now  and  then  from 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  39 

ever-cheerful-spirited  Charles  Cowden- 
Clarke,  who  lent  me  books  and  brought 
me  direct  news  from  my  parents.  So 
bright,  so  genial,  so  inspiriting  was  his 
presence,  that  he  seemed  as  though  he 
had  seen  but  scarce  two  decades  of  exist- 
ence, though  in  reality  he  had  fully  en- 
tered upon  his  third.  Well  might  he 
thank  that  Divine  Giver  'for  youth  and 
mirth  and  health,'  as  he  had  done  that 
very  year  before,  when  he  wrote  his 
beautifully  devout 

HYMN   TO   GOD. 

In  Thy  large  temple,  —  the  blue  depth  of  space,  — 
And  on  the  altar  of  Thy  quiet  fields, 
(Fit  shrine  to  hold  the  beauty  of  thy  love), 
Great  Spirit !  with  earnest  cheerfulness  I  place 
This  off'ring,   which  a  grateful  heart  now  yields, 
For  all  those  high  and  gracious  thoughts  that  rove 
O'er  all  Thy  works  ;  for  all  the  rare  delights 
Of  eye  and  ear,  —  harmonious  forms  and  strains, 
Of  deepest  breath  ;  for  each  ensuing  spring, 
With  all  its  tender  leaves  and  blossoming  : 
And  dainty  smells  that  steam  from  dropping  rains ; 
For  sunlit  days,  and  silent,  shining  nights, 
For  youth,  and  mirth,  and  health,  though  dashed  by 
smarts 


40  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

(As  luscious  creams  are  tinged  with  bitterness)  ; 
For  Hope,  sweet  Hope  !  unconscious  of  alloy ; 
For  peaceful  thoughts,  kind  faces,  loving  hearts, 
That  suck  out  all  the  poison  from  distress, — 
For  all  these  gifts  I  offer  gratitude  and  joy  ! 

The  books  he  brought  to  Montague 
Square  reminded  me  of  two  that  he  had 
given,  some  years  before,  to  my  sister 
Cecilia  and  to  me,  when  we  were  little 
girls,  and  had  each  hemmed  six  silk 
pocket-handkerchiefs  for  him.  The  book 
he  gave  to  Cecilia  was  Mary  Lamb's 
*  Mrs.  Leicester's  School/  and  the  one  he 
gave  to  me  was  Charles  Lamb's  '  Adven- 
tures of  Ulysses.'  It  bears  on  its  blank 
page  the  words,  '  Victoria  Novello,.  from 
her  sincere  friend,  Charles  Cowden-Clarke, 
22d  of  February,  1819.'  This,  his  first 
gift  to  me,  is  on  the  library  shelf  opposite 
to  me  as  I  write. 

I  ought  to  have  mentioned  that  an 
exceptionally  proud  gratification  was  mine 
when  I  earned  my  first  five-pound  note 
(my  salary  was  twenty  pounds  a  year), 
and  I  lay  with  the  precious  morsel  of 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  41 

paper  all  night  under  my  pillow.  Next 
morning  I  was  kindly  allowed  a  holiday, 
when  I  asked  leave  to  go  and  take  the 
note  to  my  mother  myself. 

It  gives  me  pleasure  to  record  another 
and  very  special  instance  of  my  lady- 
employer's  amiable  consideration  for  me. 
Once  she  gave  a  grand  ball  at  her  house, 
and  she  presented  me  with  a  sprigged 
muslin  frock,  and  dressed  my  hair  with 
her  own  hands,  in  order  that  her  young 
governess  might  appear  prettily  in  the 
dancing-room. 

When  spring  came  around,  a  super- 
lative treat  was  planned  for  me  by  Charles 
Cowden-Clarke,  who  asked  my  mother 
and  me  to  meet  at  his  modest  London 
lodging,  that  we  might  go  with  him  to 
Covent  Garden  Theatre  and  hear  the 
new  opera  of  *  Oberon,'  which  had  been 
composed  expressly  for  the  then  manager 
there,  Charles  Kemble,  in  consequence  of 
the  marked  success  of  the  previous  opera, 
Der  Freischlitz.  Permission  was  (with 


42  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  usual  indulgence  I  met  with  from  Mrs. 
Purcell)  granted  me  to  accept  this  invita- 
tion, and  a  most  memorable  event  it 
proved  to  be.  The  meeting  with  my 
beloved  mother,  the  reception  by  our 
sprightly  host,  the  delicious  April  sunshine 
pouring  through  the  green  Venetian  blinds, 
the  fine  engraving  popped  on  the  table 
for  our  inspection,  began  the  harmonious 
entertainment  most  harmoniously.  While 
he  and  I  lingered  near  each  other,  looking 
together  at  the  picture  (it  was  a  print  from 
Raphael's  '  School  of  Athens  '),  the  young 
girl's  heart  learnt  its  own  secret  —  that  it 
had  given  itself  entirely  to  him  who  was 
by  her  side.  Then  came  the  delight  of 
witnessing  the  first  night's  performance 
of  Carl  Maria  Weber's  enchanting  fairy 
opera,  the  composer  himself  appearing  in 
the  orchestra  and  conducting  the  music. 
First-rate  singers,  first-rate  instrumental- 
ists, first-rate  painters  (for  Roberts  and 
Stanfield  contributed  some  of  the  fine, 
poetic  scenes)  combined  to  make  that 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  43 

first    night    of    '  Oberon '   a    never-to-be- 
forgotten  occasion. 

As  the  season  advanced,  my  health  gave 
way  so  visibly  that  my  parents  resolved  to 
withdraw  me  from  my  situation,  where  the 
noise  and  fatigue  inevitable  upon  the  daily 
presence  of  five  young  children  had  pro- 
duced overwhelming  headaches  and  almost 
total  loss  of  appetite.  Their  mamma  was 
kind  and  attentive  to  me  in  a  most  un- 
wonted degree  of  personal  care  from  a  lady 
in  her  position  to  a  young  girl  in  mine. 
She  generally  came  into  the  room  where 
I  and  my  pupils  took  our  early  dinner, 
and  more  than  once  ordered  something  for 
me  that  she  thought  might  tempt  me  to  eat, 
always  accompanying  the  meal  by  a  special 
glass  of  wine  to  give  me  strength.  But 
when  all  failed  to  restore  me,  and  I  was  to 
leave  her  employment,  she  put  the  climax 
to  her  amiable  conduct  by  telling  me  that  if 
ever  I  resumed  governess-ship  she  hoped  I 
would  let  her  know,  in  order  that  she  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  re-engaging  me. 


44  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Sea  air  having  been  recommended  for 
me,  my  father  and  mother  took  me,  one 
of  my  brothers  and  one  of  my  sisters,  to 
a  pretty  spot  called  Little  Bohemia,  not 
far  from  Hastings,  where  we  spent  many 
weeks,  taking  early  plunges  in  the  sea  of 
a  morning,  long  walks  during  the  day, 
and  pleasant  talks  in  the  evening.  My 
brother  Alfred  was  fond  of  being  read  to, 
therefore  I  usually  had  a  book  in  my  hand 
as  we  wandered  through  the  pleasant  neigh- 
bourhood, and  read  to  him  many  an  amus- 
ing or  interesting  narrative.  Hollinton 
Wood,  Old  Roar,  etc.,  etc.,  were  the  scenes 
of  our  rambles,  and  much  we  enjoyed 
them  in  their  rural  beauty.  That  summer 
there  was  a  very  singular  blight,  or  rather 
two  blights.  One  was  a  visitation  of  the 
minutest  black  insects,  who  settled  on  our 
necks,  shoulders,  arms,  faces,  —  in  short, 
whenever  the  skin  was  uncovered  and  al- 
lowed them  to  settle  upon  it.  The  other 
blight  was  inimical  to  the  first  blight,  being 
no  other  than  myriads  of  ladybirds,  who 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  45 

devoured  the  black  insects  and  swarmed 
to  such  an  extent  on  all  the  vegetation 
around  that  every  twig  of  the  hedges 
looked  like  branches  of  reddest  coral. 

By  the  time  we  returned  to  Shacklewell, 
I  was  wonderfully  improved  in  health,  so 
much  had  I  benefited  by  my  summer  at 
the  seaside  and  by  the  exercise  in  the 
open  air  which  I  had  been  able  to  take. 
Life  was  very  bright  to  me.  Charles  Cow- 
den-Clarke  came  oftener  and  oftener  down 
from  town  to  see  us,  and  when  he  could 
not  come,  he  would  send  a  letter  to  Bruns- 
wick Square,  where  my  father  taught  on 
Tuesdays  and  Fridays  at  Miss  Campbell's 
school  for  twenty-seven  years.  Happy  the 
girl  whose  letters  from  and  to  the  man 
she  prefers  are  conveyed  by  her  own  father. 
Our  mutual  sympathy  became  more  and 
more  confirmed,  until  on  the  ist  of 
November  that  year  (1826)  we  were 
affianced  to  each  other.  I,  being  so  young, 
—  only  seventeen,  —  he  had  first  written  to 
my  parents,  asking  their  approval  of  his 


46  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

suit  and  their  consent  to  his  making 
known  to  me  his  wish  that  I  should  be- 
come his  wife,  knowing  how  truly  I  should 
be  glad  he  took  this  course  of  appealing 
to  them  first.  They,  esteeming  and  loving 
him  as  they  did,  were  rejoiced  to  learn 
this  prospect  of  happiness  for  their 
daughter,  and  gave  him  their  cordial 
consent. 

The  first  walk  in  London  that  my 
Charles  and  I  took  together  after  this 
event,  we  went  to  Leicester  Square,  where 
dwelt  a  pleasant  old  jeweller,  Mr.  Chandler, 
who  knew  us  Novellos  well,  his  acquaint- 
ance with  our  family  dating  from  the  time 
when  he  had  had  friendly  intercourse  with 
my  maternal  grandfather ;  and  ever  since, 
whatever  trinket-purchasing  or  trinket- 
mending  was  needed,  Mr.  Chandler  was 
applied  to.  Now,  I  was  taken  thither  in 
order  to  choose  an  engagement  ring,  and 
I  remember  old  Mr.  Chandler's  roguish 
smile  and  remark  when  he  perceived  that 
I  tried  it  on  the  third  finger  of  my  left 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  47 

hand.  The  ring  was  a  very  simple  one,  — 
a  half-hoop  of  garnets,  —  for  knowing  that 
my  betrothed  was  not  a  rich  man,  I  stipu- 
lated that  it  should  not  be  a  costly  ring ; 
but  it  was  a  charming  one  to  me,  and 
Mr.  Chandler  told  us  it  had  been  faceted 
by  a  clever  diamond-cutter.  He  was,  ac- 
cording to  his  wont,  full  of  entertaining 
and  intelligent  chat,  and  among  other 
curiosities  showed  us  Queen  Elizabeth's 
watch,  which  was  of  the  thickness  of 
clasped  hands. 

In  the  course  of  that  day's  walk,  we 
passed  several  shops  where  Charles  wanted 
to  enter  and  buy  various  knacks  for  me ; 
but  I  exercised  my  new  right  of  despotic 
authority,  and  forbade  him  to  squander 
his  money,  which  I  hoped  he  would  hoard, 
as  I  intended  to  begin  helping  him  to 
economise  henceforth.  I  resumed,  more 
warmly  than  ever,  my  desire  to  earn 
some  contribution  to  our  family  income, 
as  it  was  my  parents'  kind  promise  that  I, 
as  well  as  this  new  well-loved  member 


48  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

thereof,  should  continue  to  reside  with 
them  after  our  marriage.  Meanwhile,  they 
removed  from  Shacklewell  to  No.  22 
Bedford  Street,  Covent  Garden,  and  it 
was  here  that  I  made  my  first  attempt  in 
literary  production.  My  only  confidant 
was  my  sister  Cecilia.  I  wrote  one  short 
paper,  entitled  '  My  Arm  Chair,'  signed 
merely  '  M.  H.'  These  initials  I  meant  to 
represent  '  Mary  Howard,'  because  my 
father  had,  in  his  juvenile  days,  enacted  the 
part  of  Sir  John  Falstaff  as  Mr.  Howard  at 
some  private  theatricals.  I  sent  my  paper 
to  the  office  where  Hone's  *  Table  Book ' 
was  published,  and  to  my  great  joy,  and 
to  that  of  my  sister-confidant,  my  paper  was 
promptly  accepted,  making  its  appearance 
in  an  early  subsequent  number  of  that  in- 
teresting periodical.  To  figure  in  the  same 
volumes  where  dear  and  honoured  Charles 
Lamb  was  contributing  his  selections  from 
'  The  Garrick  Plays '  was  in  itself  a  greatly- 
to-be-prized  distinction,  but  my  happiest 
triumph  was  when  I  showed  the  paper  to 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  49 

my  Charles,  telling  him  it  was  written  by 
a  girl  of  seventeen,  and  watched  his  look 
of  pleased  surprise  when  I  told  him  who 
that  girl  was.  I  may  here  mention  that 
this  contribution  of  mine  to  Hone's  *  Table 
Book  '  was  followed  by  five  others,  respec- 
tively entitled,  '  My  Desk/  «  My  Home,' 
'  My  Pocket-Book,'  '  Inn  Yards,'  and  a 
paper  on  the  '  Assignats '  in  currency  at 
the  time  of  the  French  Republic  of  1792. 
The  paper  was  headed  by  a  printed  fac- 
simile of  an  '  Assignat  di  dix  sous",  from 
one  that  had  been  given  to  me  by  my  kind 
old  tutor,  Monsieur  Bonnefoy. 

A  very  delightful  visit  to  the  West  of 
England  was  the  one  I  made  that  summer 
to  Mrs.  John  Clarke  (who,  after  the  loss  of 
her  husband,  had  gone  to  live  at  Frome, 
in  Somersetshire,  with  her  unmarried 
youngest  daughter)  in  order  that  I  might 
make  the  acquaintance  of  my  future 
mother-in-law.  Her  married  daughter, 
Mrs.  Towers,  resided  at  some  miles  distant 
from  her,  at  Standerwick.  It  was  to  Mrs. 

4 


50  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Towers  that  Charles  Lamb  addressed  the 
following  pleasant  sonnet,  written  in  her 
album  :  — 

'  Lady  Unknown,    who   crav'st   from    me,    Un- 
known, 

The  trifle  of  a  verse  these  leaves  to  grace, 
How  shall  I  find  fit  matter?  with  what  face 
Address  a  face  that  ne'er  to  me  was  shown  ? 
Thy  looks,  tones,  gestures,  manners  and  what 

not, 

Conjecturing,  I  wander  in  the  dark. 
I  know  thee  only  sister  to  Charles  Clarke ! 
But  at  that  name  my  cold  Muse  waxes  hot, 
And  swears  that  thou  art  such  a  one  as  he ; 
Warm,  laughter-loving,  with  a  touch  of  madness, 
Wild,  glee-provoking,  pouring  oil  of  gladness 
From  frank  heart  without  guile.     And  if  thou  be 
The  pure  reverse  of  this,  and  I  mistake,  — 
Demure  one,  I  will  like  thee  for  his  sake.' 

SHE  was  the  authoress  of  three  books 
for  young  people, '  The  Children's  Fireside/ 
'  The  Young  Wanderer's  Cave,'  and  '  The 
Adventures  of  Tom  Starboard,'  and  in 
Leigh  Hunt's  '  Literary  Examiner '  for 
December  i3th,  1823,  appeared  her  clever 
*  Stanzas  to  a  Fly  that  had  survived  the 
Winter  of  1822.' 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  51 

My  reception  by  Charles's  mother  was 
all  that  I  could  have  hoped  of  affectionate 
cordiality.  It  was  evident  that  she  '  took 
to  me'  (as  the  phrase  is)  at  once.  She 
had  a  way  of  putting  her  hand  upon  my 
knee  caressingly,  when  I  sat  by  her  side 
and  she  talked  to  me,  —  a  token  of  liking 
that  Charles  told  me  he  had  never  seen 
her  give,  excepting  to  one  young  lady 
whom  she  had  known,  and  was  very  fond 
of,  in  the  old  Enfield  times.  Curiously 
enough,  she  more  than  once  inadver- 
tently called  me  by  that  young  lady's  name 
instead  of  my  own,  as  if  I  somehow  re- 
minded her  of  the  girl  she  had  so  much 
loved. 

At  first,  when  evening  came,  Mrs. 
Clarke  used  to  leave  her  youngest  daugh- 
ter in  one  parlour  to  receive  the  visit  of  a 
neighbouring  gentleman  to  whom  Eliza 
was  engaged,  while  Charles  and  I  were 
left  in  the  other  parlour,  with  the  idea  that 
the  two  couples  of  lovers  might  like  to  be 
sole  company  for  each  other;  but  very 


52  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

soon  Charles  and  I  went  upstairs  to  fetch 
down  his  mother,  as  we  told  her  we  could 
not  afford  to  lose  so  many  hours  of  her 
society,  now  that  we  had  come  on  purpose 
to  be  as  much  with  her  as  possible.  But 
she  made  us  go  out  of  mornings  to  enjoy 
rambles  in  the  picturesque  vicinity ;  one  of 
our  frequent  resorts  being  the  lovely  park 
of  Orchard  Leigh.  Here  it  was  so  peace- 
ful, and  we  were  so  much  to  ourselves,  that 
the  cows  used  to  come  up  and  look  at  us 
as  strange  beings  who  had  wandered  there 
they  knew  not  how,  and  who  were  too 
quietly  occupied  with  each  other  to  need 
being  any  further  noticed. 

One  of  the  very  earliest  excursions 
planned  for  us  by  Charles's  mother  was  a 
drive  over  to  Standerwick.  On  our  way 
thither  we  passed  through  the  Marquis 
of  Bath's  beautiful  estate, —  Long  Leat. 
It  so  chanced  that  while  the  carriage  ran 
by  the  side  of  a  broad  sheet  of  water  there, 
we  had  a  rare  and  interesting  sight.  A 
pair  of  swans  rose  from  the  lake  and  took 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  53 

flight  to  a  short   distance,  affording   the 
seldom-seen  view  of  swans  in  the  air. 

On  reaching  the  dwelling  of  the  Towers 
family,  Mrs.  Towers  entered  the  room  with 
her  youngest  child  in  her  arms,  beaming 
with  smiles  at  our  advent.  She  and  her 
brother  were  warmly  attached  to  each  other, 
and  the  friendship  she  at  once  formed  with 
his  chosen  future  wife  never  ceased  as  long 
as  she  lived.  In  consequence  of  our  hav- 
ing to  return  early  to  Frome,  lunch  was 
promptly  laid  on  the  table,  and  I  recollect 
observing  the  tasteful  mode  in  which  it 
was  arranged,  with  the  exquisite  effect  of 
colouring  produced  by  a  large  bowl  of 
snowy  curds  and  whey  in  contrast  with  a 
ruby-hued  heap  of  gooseberry  jam  near  it 
in  the  centre  of  the  hospitable  board.  Mrs. 
Towers  was  as  famous  for  her  home-made 
jams  and  other  dulcet  preparations  as  for 
her  books  and  verses. 

This  visit  to  Charles's  mother  made  me 
regret  more  than  ever,  —  as  I  had  often 
regretted  before,  —  that  I  had  never  known 


54  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

his  father.  He  had  retired  from  the  school 
at  Enfield,  and  had  gone  to  reside  at 
Ramsgate  before  any  meeting  of  our  re- 
spective families  had  taken  place ;  but 
Charles  always  averred  that  he  knew  his 
father  and  I  would  have  sympathised  with 
each  other  intensely,  and  would  have  be- 
come fast  friends.  He  was  a  man  of  nobly 
liberal  opinions,  of  refined  taste  in  litera- 
ture, was  as  gentle-hearted  as  he  was  wise, 
and  as  wise  as  he  was  gentle-hearted.  In 
his  youth  he  had  been  articled  to  a  lawyer 
at  Northampton,  and  ran  the  risk  of  hav- 
ing to  hang  a  man,  in  consequence  of  being 
deputed  to  fulfil  the  sheriff's  office,  because 
of  the  absence  from  town  of  the  regularly- 
appointed  executioner.  The  whole  night 
was  spent  in  an  agony  of  mind  by  John 
Clarke  while  endeavouring  to  find  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  task  so  inexpressibly  repug- 
nant to  him ;  therefore,  next  morning, 
when  he  had  succeeded,  he  resolved  there 
and  then  to  leave  a  situation  that  had  sub- 
jected him  to  so  horrible  a  chance,  and  at 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  55 

once  renounced  the  legal  profession,  for 
which  he  had  never  felt  any  liking,  and 
adopted  that  of  school-master,  for  which 
he  was  eminently  fitted.  He  was  always 
highly  esteemed  and  affectionately  re- 
garded by  his  scholars,  several  of  whom, 
after  they  quitted  his  Enfield  school,  be- 
came men  of  noted  ability,  —  John  Keats, 
Edward  Cowper,  and  Edward  Holmes 
being  among  the  number. 

Another  visit  of  signal  interest  that  year 
was  one  that  I  paid  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leigh 
Hunt,  by  their  invitation,  while  they  lived 
at  Highgate.  I  must  have  always  had  a 
touch  of  romance  in  my  disposition,  —  even 
as  long  back  as  when,  quite  a  child,  I  had 
crept  round  the  sofa  to  kiss  his  hand,  as 
I  have  already  recorded.  Leigh  Hunt,  to 
my  imagination,  had  ever  appeared  an  ideal 
poet  in  visible  form,  and  I  regarded  him 
with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  an  enthusiasm  of 
reverential  affection.  Thus,  to  stay  in  the 
same  house  with  him  ;  to  be  the  companion 
of  his  walks  about  such  charming  environs 


56  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

as  Hampstead,  Caen  Wood,  Muswell  Hill, 
and  Freiern  Barnet ;  to  listen  to  his  con- 
fidential talk  after  breakfast,  in  his  flowered 
morning-gown,  when  he  would  discuss  with 
me  his  then  literary  projects  in  a  style 
which  showed  he  felt  he  had  near  him  one 
who  could  thoroughly  understand  and  ap- 
preciate his  avowed  views,  —  all  formed  a 
bewitching  combination  that  rendered  this 
visit  indeed  a  memorable  one  to  me.  He 
was  then  full  of  a  project  for  writing  a  book 
to  be  called  '  Fabulous  Zoology,'  which  was 
to  treat  of  dragons,  griffins,  cockatrices, 
basilisks,  etc.,  etc.  He  was  also  busy  with 
translations  from  French  epigrammatic 
poets,  and  he  would  murmur  some  happily- 
turned  line  in  the  English  rendering  he 
contemplated  from  Clement  Murot  or  other 
similar  author.  He  had  likewise  a  fancy 
for  producing  a  volume  of  fairy  tales,  one 
of  which  was  to  be  entitled  '  Mother  Fowl/ 
as  a  kind  of  punning  name  for  a  heroine, 
reminding  the  reader  of  '  Mother  Goose,' 
only  in  this  respect,  —  because  '  Mother 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  57 

Fowl '  was  to  have  been  conspicuous  for 
foulest  dirty  ways  of  mischief,  besides 
being  grimiest  of  the  grimy  herself. 

Having  confessed  to  a  touch  of  romance 
in  my  disposition,  I  may  here  give  an  addi- 
tional proof  of  its  likelihood,  by  owning 
that  while  Leigh  Hunt  was  in  Italy  I  had 
indulged  girlish  visions  of  the  delight  it 
would  be  to  me  if  I  could  gain  a  large  for- 
tune, carry  it  thither  myself,  and  lay  it  at 
his  feet.  Again,  when  he  returned  thence 
to  England,  and  I  chanced  to  hear  him  sing 
one  of  Tom  Moore's  Irish  melodies  ('  Rich 
and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore '),  I  was 
so  excited  by  the  sound  of  his  voice  after 
that  lapse  of  time,  that  I  found  the  tears 
silently  streaming  down  my  cheeks. 

Another  visit,  but  of  a  very  different 
kind,  that  year,  was  paid  by  my  Charles 
and  me  together.  He  took  me  to  see 
William  Hone,  who  was  then  detained,  by 
temporary  money  difficulties,  '  within  the 
rules '  of  the  King's  Bench  Prison.  So 
dingy  and  smoky  were  the  regions  through 


58  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

which  we  had  to  pass  ere  we  arrived  there, 
that  a  morsel  of  smut  found  its  way  to  my 
face  and  stuck  thereon  during  the  first 
portion  of  our  interview  with  Mr.  Hone. 
When  Charles  perceived  the  black  intruder, 
he  quickly  puffed  it  off,  and  went  on  with 
his  conversation.  A  day  or  two  after- 
wards, when  Hone  again  saw  Charles,  he 
said  to  him :  '  You  are  engaged  to  Miss 
Novello,  are  you  not  ? '  '  What  makes  you 
think  so  ?  '  was  the  reply.  '  I  saw  you 
familiarly  blow  a  smut  off  the  young  lady's 
face,  to  which  familiarity  she  made  no  ob- 
jection ;  therefore,  I  naturally  guessed  you 
were  engaged  to  each  other.'  Hone's 
'  Table  Book  '  had  succeeded  to  his  '  Every 
Day  Book  ' ;  and  it  was  to  this  last-named 
publication  that  Charles  Lamb  paid  the 
gracefully-worded  compliment  in  the  con- 
cluding stanza  of  his  lines  to  Hone  :  — 

'  Dan   Phoebus   loves   your  book  —  trust   me,   friend 
Hone  — 

The  title  only  errs,  he  bid  me  say  j 
For  while  such  art,  wit,  reading  there  are  shown, 

He  swears,  't  is  not  a  work  of  every  day? 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  59 

A  similarly  witty  and  elegant  compli- 
ment was  paid  to  his  friend,  Leigh  Hunt, 
by  Charles  Lamb,  in  these  lines  that 
ended  some  he  addressed  to  him  at  the 
time  when  each  Wednesday  brought  out 
that  delightful  periodical  called  '  The 
Indicator ' :  — 

'  I  would  not  lightly  bruise  old  Priscian's  head 

Or  wrong  the  rules  of  grammar  understood  j 
But,  with  the  leave  of  Priscian  be  it  said, 
The  Indicative  is  your  Potential  Mood. 
Wit,  poet,  proseman,  partyman,  translator,  — 
Hunt,  your  best  title  yet  is  Indicator.1 

To  this  periodical  my  mother  was  god- 
mother. There  had  been  some  difficulty 
in  finding  a  name  for  it;  and  she  not 
only  suggested  the  one  ultimately  adopted, 
but  she  supplied  the  following  passage  — 
which  formed  the  heading  of  each  number  : 
—  *  There  is  a  bird  in  the  interior  of  Africa 
whose  habits  would  rather  seem  to  belong 
to  the  interior  of  Fairyland ;  but  they  have 
been  well  authenticated.  It  indicates  to 
honey-hunters  where  the  nests  of  wild  bees 
are  to  be  found.  It  calls  them  with  a 


6o  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

cheerful  cry,  which  they  answer,  and  on 
rinding  itself  recognised,  flies  and  hovers 
over  a  hollow  tree  containing  the  honey. 
While  they  are  occupied  in  collecting 
it,  the  bird  goes  a  little  distance,  where 
he  observes  all  that  passes  ;  and  the  hunters, 
when  they  have  helped  themselves,  take 
care  to  leave  him  his  portion  of  the  food. 
This  is  called  the  Cuculus  Indicator  of 
Linnaeus,  otherwise  the  moroc,  bee-cuckoo, 
or  honey-bird. 

' "  Then  he  arriving  round  about  doth  flie 
And  takes  survey  with  busie,  envious  eye ; 
Now  this,  now  that,  he  tasteth  tenderly." 

SPENSER.' 

I  cannot  forbear  quoting  the  conclud- 
ing droll  paragraph  of  a  short  article  that 
appeared  in  the  first  number  of  the  '  Indi- 
cator '  on  the  '  DIFFICULTY  OF  FINDING  A 

NAME    FOR    A    WORK   OF   THIS    KIND/       Leigh 

Hunt  is  describing  a  company  of  his 
friends  helping  him  by  suggesting  titles: 
'  Some  of  the  names  had  a  meaning  in 
their  absurdity,  such  as  "  The  Adviser,  or 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  61 

Helps  for  Composing " ;  "  The  Cheap 
Reflector,  or  Every  Man  his  Own  Looking 
Glass " ;  "  The  Retailer,  or  Every  Man 
his  Own  Other  Man's  Wit " ;  "  Nonsense, 
to  be  continued."  Others  were  laughable 
by  the  mere  force  of  contrast,  as  "  The  Croc- 
odile, or  Pleasing  Companion  " ;  "  Chaos, 
or  the  Agreeable  Miscellany " ;  "  The 
Fugitive  Guide  " ;  "  The  Footsoldier,  or 
Flowers  of  Wit "  ;  "  Bigotry,  or  the  Cheer- 
ful Instructor";  "The  Polite  Repository 
of  Abuse  " ;  "  Blood,  being  a  Collection 
of  Eight  Essays."  Others  were  sheer 
ludicrousness  and  extravagance,  as  "  The 
Pleasing  Ancestor";  "The  Silent  Re- 
marker";  "The  Tart";  "The  Leg  of 
Beef,  by  a  Layman";  "The  Ingenious 
Hatband  " ;  "  The  Boots  of  Bliss  " ;  "  The 
Occasional  Diner  " ;  "  The  Toothache  "  ; 
"  Recollections  of  a  very  Unpleasant 
Nature " ;  "  Thoughts  on  a  Hill  of  Con- 
siderable Eminence  "  ;  "  Meditations  on  a 
Pleasing  Idea";  "Materials  for  Drink- 
ing " ;  The  Knocker,  No.  i  " ;  "  The 


62  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

Hippopotamus  at  Cards  "  ;  "  The  Arabian 
Nights  on  Horseback,"  with  an  infinite 
number  of  other  mortal  murders  of  com- 
mon sense,  which  rose  to  "push  us 
from  our  stools,"  and  which  none  but  the 
wise  or  good-natured  would  ever  think  of 
laughing  at.' 

In  the  next  year  to  that  of  which  I  have 
been  writing,  my  parents  removed  from 
Bedford  Street  to  No.  66  Great  Queen 
Street,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields ;  and  Charles 
became  urgent  with  them  to  let  me  fix  a 
day  for  our  marriage.  It  took  place  with 
a  quiet  simplicity  that  particularly  pleased 
us  both.  My  dear  father  and  mother 
were  the  only  persons  with  us  when,  early 
in  the  morning  of  5th  July,  1828,  we  drove 
to  Bloomsbury  Church.  Two  milkmaids 
chanced  to  be  standing  near  as  we  went 
up  the  steps,  and  I  heard  one  of  them  say : 
'  That 's  the  bride.'  A  neat  white  satin 
cottage  bonnet  and  a  white  muslin  dress  — 
both  the  work  of  my  own  hands  —  were  all 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  63 

the  wedding  adornments  that  denoted  me 
to  them.  A  sweet  peaceful  solemnity  was 
in  the  tranquilly-uttered  words  of  the 
ceremony ;  but  the  clerk,  after  the  service, 
indulged  in  a  smile  as  he  observed  me 
about  to  sign  my  new  name  in  the  register 
book,  remarking  that  many  brides  made 
this  mistake,  and  directing  me  to  write, 
for  the  last  time,  my  maiden  name.  I 
remember  rather  wondering  at  my  own 
perfect  calmness  during  the  service,  for  I 
had  determined  not  to  follow  Charlotte 
Grandison's  example  of  hesitation  at  say- 
ing the  word  '  obey,'  but  to  speak  '  love, 
honour  and  obey '  with  the  full  tone  that 
should  express  the  true  wish  of  my  heart 
to  faithfully  keep  this  vow.  Well  might  I, 
with  such  a  man  as  he  was  who  had  chosen 
me,  and  whom  I  had  long  known,  esteemed, 
respected,  admired  and  warmly  loved. 

On  our  return  we  found  breakfast  ready 
laid,  certain  of  the  plates  having  upon 
them  a  gift  each,  which  my  mother  had, 
with  her  usual  kind  thought,  provided  for 


64  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  bride  to  present  to  her  young  brothers 
and  sisters.  This  pleasant  meal  and  pres- 
entation being  over,  and  the  wedding- 
dress  exchanged  for  a  thicker  muslin  and 
plainer  cottage  bonnet  of  straw,  we  pre- 
pared to  leave  the  dear  home  to  which  we 
were  soon  to  return.  My  mother's  sweet, 
penetrating  voice  followed  us  forth,  utter- 
ing the  few  but  tender  words,  '  Take  care 
of  her,  Charley.'  Be  it  here  noted,  that  as 
soon  as  Charles  became  one  of  the  family 
he  was  invariably  called  by  that  boyish 
form  of  his  name,  proving  how  ever-young 
was  his  nature  to  the  last  hour  of  his  ex- 
istence. He  had  decided  upon  making  his 
native  Enfield  our  honeymoon  quarters, 
therefore  we  took  our  way  to  the  Bell 
Inn  in  Holborn,  whence  the  Edmonton 
stage-coach  started.  On  our  way  thither 
he  laughingly  told  me  of  a  man  who  had 
said  to  his  new-made  wife  an  hour  after 
their  espousals,  '  Hitherto,  madam,  I  have 
been  your  slave,  now  you  are  mine.'  When 
we  reached  Edmonton  we  alighted  from  the 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  65 

coach,  and  crossed  the  stile  beyond  which 
were  the  fields  that  lie  between  that  place 
and  Enfield.  Brilliant  was  the  July  sun, 
blue  the  sky,  whereon  dainty  little  white 
cloudlets  appeared  like  tufts  of  swandown, 
scarcely  moved  by  the  light  summer  air. 
We  lingered,  leaning  on  the  wooden  railing 
that  surmounted  the  miniature  bridge  over 
the  rivulet,  where  Keats  used  to  watch  the 
minnows  '  staying  their  wavy  bodies  'gainst 
the  streams/  and  on  along  the  *  footpath ' 
which  his  '  friend  Charles '  had  '  changed 
for  the  grassy  plain,'  when,  on  parting 
at  night,  between  their  respective  homes, 
Keats  says,  '  I  no  more  could  hear  your 
footsteps  touch  the  gravelly  floor.'  The 
very  words  with  which  the  young  poet 
concluded  this,  his  '  Epistle  to  Charles 
Cowden-Clarke,'  seemed  then  and  there 
to  be  fulfilling,  for  he  goes  on  to  say,  '  In 
those  still  moments  I  have  wish'd  you  joys 
that  well  you  know  to  honour,'  and  the 
*  joys '  of  that  day  certainly  crowned  with 
reality  the  affectionate  aspiration.  Farther 


66  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

on  we  went,  entering  the  meadow  skirted 
by  the  row  of  sapling  oaks  planted  by 
Charles's  father,  —  the  bag  of  acorns  for  the 
purpose  being  carried  by  the  little  son,  — 
until  we  came  to  the  wall  belonging  to  the 
end  of  the  schoolhouse  garden,  behind 
which  wall  was  an  arbour  where  Charles 
used  to  read  to  Keats  Spenser's  exquisite 
1  Epithalamion,'  and  where  they  talked 
poetry  together,  the  elder  of  the  two  in- 
troducing the  younger  to  the  divine  art, 
and  *  first  taught  him  all  the  sweets  of 
song,'  finally  lending  him  Spenser's '  Faerie 
Queene,'  to  Keats's  infinite  rapture.  We 
took  up  our  abode  at  a  rural  hostelry  called 
6  The  Greyhound,1  kept  by  a  comfortable 
old  man  and  his  daughter,  named  Powell. 
This  hostelry  possessed  a  pleasant  sitting- 
room  overlooking  *  the  green '  and  its 
spreading  oak  tree,  and  as  pleasant  a 
sleeping-room,  with  its  window  screened 
by  a  vine  trained  across  it,  casting  a 
verdant,  softened  light  within.  It  was  to 
the  period  of  our  sojourn  here  that  Charles 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  67 

Lamb  referred  in  a  letter  he  afterwards 
wrote  to  Charles,  saying,  — '  When  you 
lurked  at  "  The  Greyhound."  Benedicks 
are  close,  but  how  I  so  totally  missed  you 
at  that  time,  going  for  my  morning  cup  of 
ale  duly,  is  a  mystery.  'T  was  stealing  a 
match  before  one's  face  in  earnest.  But 
certainly  we  had  not  a  dream  of  your  pro- 
pinquity. ...  I  promise  you  the  wedding 
was  very  pleasant  news  to  me,  indeed.' 

Enchanting  were  the  daily  long  walks 
we  took,  and  enchanted  ground  seemed 
the  lovely  English  rural  lanes  and  meadows 
we  passed  through,  visiting  all  the  most 
notable  points  around  that  vicinity  so 
dearly  associated  as  it  was  to  us.  Often 
did  we  turn  at  once  into  the  roadway 
where  the  charming  old  schoolhouse  stood 
(it  was  under  a  stranger's  mastership  now), 
and  look  up  at  its  curious  front  of  rich 
red  brick,  moulded  into  designs  represent- 
ing garlands  of  flowers  and  pomegranates, 
together  with  heads  of  Cherubim,  over  two 
niches  in  the  centre  of  the  building,  which, 


68  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

on  one  of  its  bricks,  bore  the  figures  1717. 
This  frontage  was,  indeed,  esteemed  so 
curious  and  interesting  as  a  specimen  of 
bygone  English  domestic  architecture,  that 
when,  subsequently,  the  schoolhouse  was 
bought  for  a  railway  station  the  company 
kept  the  front  carefully,  and  it  was  pre- 
served in  the  exhibition  buildings  of  the 
Kensington  Museum,  where  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  it  when  I  visited 
England  many  years  afterwards. 

Between  the  *  two  niches  '  just  mentioned, 
there  was  a  window  of  a  room  in  which,  dur- 
ing some  childish  illness,  Charles  had  been 
put  to  sleep  apart  from  the  other  boys,  and 
the  little  fellow  —  thinking  this  a  capital 
opportunity  —  had  crept  out  on  to  the  lead 
flat  over  the  entrance  door,  that  he  might 
properly  and  closely  inspect  the  pome- 
granate, garlands,  and  Cherubim,  which 
he  had  heard  extolled  by  his  elders. 

Opposite  to  the  schoolhouse  was  a  bend 
of  the  New  River,  in  neighbouring  portions 
of  which  winding  stream  Charles  and  his 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  69 

schoolfellows  had  enjoyed  many  a  luxurious 
plunge,  and,  after  bathing,  had  disdained 
to  use  towels,  but  dried  themselves  by 
scampers  over  the  grassy  fields  close  to 
its  shores.  Farther  on,  beyond  the  school- 
house,  the  road  led  beneath  a  small  wooded 
acclivity,  but  large  enough  to  have  allowed 
Charles,  when  a  young  lad,  to  imagine  it 
a  forest  peopled  with  dragons,  lions,  ladies, 
knights,  dwarfs,  and  giants,  while  he  gazed 
at  this  spot  from  a  window  which  com- 
manded a  view  of  it.  The  road  terminated 
at  a  place  called  Ponder's  End,  but  as  it 
possessed  no  particular  interest  we  gener- 
ally made  this  the  returning  point. 

Other  days  we  took  the  exactly  opposite 
direction,  going  past  the  house  where 
Richard  Warburton  Lytton  (grandfather 
of  Lytton  Bulwer,  afterwards  Lord  Lytton) 
resided.  He  had  been  very  kind  to  Charles 
when  quite  a  young  boy,  lending  him  books 
and  talking  pleasantly  to  him  while  tak- 
ing exercise  on  what  was  then  called  a 
*  chamber-horse.' 


70  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Proceeding  farther,  we  came  to  a  house 
with  a  garden,  that  had  a  pond  abutting 
on  the  road.  In  this  pond  were  some 
beautiful  water-lilies  in  full  bloom,  and 
we  always  used  to  stop  and  look  at  them ; 
for  it  so  chanced  that  they  were  the  first 
I  had  ever  seen.  Then  we  came  to  a 
stile,  giving  entrance  to  a  series  of  deli- 
cious green  fields,  which  were  exchanged 
for  a  path  through  a  small  wood,  then 
more  fields,  until  we  reached  Winchmore 
Hill.  The  exceeding  beauty  of  this  dis- 
trict had  been  charmingly  described  by 
Charles,  in  a  short  paper  called  'Walks 
round  London,'  No.  i,  which  appeared  in 
Leigh  Hunt's  *  Literary  Pocket  Book,'  or 
*  Companion  for  the  Lovers  of  Nature  and 
Art,'  in  the  year  1820. 

Sometimes  we  wandered  as  far  as  Theo- 
bald's Park  and  White-Webb's  Wood, 
traditionally  said  to  be  the  place  where 
the  conspirators  in  James  the  First's  reign 
used  to  meet.  My  remembrance  of  it  is 
that  of  a  quiet,  umbrageous  spot,  delight- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  71 

ful  for  a  rest  after  a  pedestrian  ramble. 
Very  frequently  we  made  our  way  back, 
from  one  of  these  walks,  to  our  hostelry, 
along  a  rustic  path  which  ran  parallel  with 
the  chief  street  of  Enfield  ;  partly  because 
it  was  more  tranquil  and  retired,  partly 
because  it  was  more  shady,  and  lastly, 
because  it  was  near  to  a  rookery,  which 
had  peculiar  attraction  for  us,  being  the 
abode  of  birds,  watched  of  an  evening  by 
Charles  and  his  schoolfellows,  who  used 
to  look  up  and  shout  to  the  black  train  as 
it  came  home  to  roost, '  Lag,  lag,  laglast ! ' 
Once,  however,  we  were  startled  by  the 
report  of  a  gun,  and  saw  some  dark  object 
fall,  that  reminded  us  of  the  feathered 
victim  of  Caspar's  magic  shot  in  Weber's 
*  Freischlitz ' ;  but  it  was  probably  some 
harmless  gamekeeper  occupied  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duty. 

On  our  return  to  town  we  were  wel- 
comed to  our  parents'  home,  making  it 
happily  ours  in  every  sense  of  the  word, 
and  it  continued  thus  wherever  their 


72  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

domicile  might  be  situated.  For  twenty 
years  we  enjoyed  that  privilege  of  living 
with  them,  —  a  privilege  as  delightful  as 
rare. 

Ere  quite  settling  down,  Charles  Lamb 
invited  us  to  spend  a  week  with  him  and 
his  sister  (who  were  then  living  at  Chase- 
side,  Enfield),  to  make  amends  for  our 
having  '  lurked  at  "  The  Greyhound," ' 
when  he  '  had  not  a  dream  of  our  propin- 
quity.' How  fully  and  delightfully  that 
visit  enabled  us  to  behold  him  in  his  in- 
dividuality of  whimsical  humour  as  well 
as  his  thoroughly  tender  and  kind  nature  ! 
His  lifelong  devotion  to  his  sister  had 
been  practically  proved ;  but  his  mingled 
playfulness  of  treatment  and  manner 
towards  her  were  once  indicated  in  his 
once  saying  to  us,  with  his  arch  smile,  '  I 
always  call  my  sister  Marie  when  we  are 
alone  together,  Mary  when  we  are  with 
friends,  and  Moll  before  the  servants/ 

He  was  as  fond  of  long  walks  as  we 
were,  and  had  equal  admiration  for  Enfield 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  73 

and  its  environs  as  we  had.  He  showed 
us  the  very  spot  where  a  dog  had  been 
pertinacious  in  following  him,  and  whom 
he  sought  to  get  rid  of  by  tiring  him  out(!\ 
had  given  up  the  contest  of  perseverance, 
and  had  dropped  down  under  a  hedge 
dead  beat.  He  took  us  to  Cheshunt  and 
to  Northam,  with  the  hope  of  finding  a 
famous  old  giant  oak-tree  we  had  sever- 
ally heard  was  to  be  seen  at  one  or  other 
of  these  places ;  but  the  search  was  vain 
in  both  cases.  The  disappointment  was 
small,  but  the  pleasure  of  the  walks  infi- 
nite. On  one  especial  occasion,  when 
Fanny  Kelly  chanced  to  come  down  from 
London  to  see  the  Lambs  at  Chaseside 
when  we  were  there,  a  walk  was  proposed 
which  took  us  past  a  picturesque  ford,  at 
a  little  distance  from  a  wayside  waggon- 
inn.  Beside  this  country  inn  were  pleasant 
shady  seats,  and  Lamb  proposed  we  should 
tarry  awhile  and  rest.  Neither  Fanny 
Kelly  nor  we  two  declining  the  pro- 
posal, but  glad  to  please  him,  and  glad  to 


74  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

have  the  pleasure  of  sitting  there  with 
him  and  his  sister,  and  the  delightful 
actress,  we  loitered,  leisurely  sipping  our 
draughts  of  malt,  in  a  companionship 
most  pleasant  to  me  to  remember.  By- 
the-bye,  I  may  record  that  I  won  Charles 
Lamb's  increase  of  esteem  (on  some  occa- 
sion when  I  was  speaking  of  my  father's 
having  made  me  at  rare  times  acquainted 
with  that  *  Lutheran  Beer,'  porter,  alluded 
to  in  Elia's  *  Chapter  on  Ears ')  by  saying 
that  I  preferred  Barclay  &  Perkins's 
brewage  to  Whitbread's,  or  any  other 
brewers  that  I  had  ever  tasted.  He  was 
fond  of  testing  people's  capacity  for  under- 
standing his  mode  of  indulging  in  odd, 
bluntish  speeches,  but  which  contained  a 
certain  quaint  evidence  of  familiar  liking. 
Once,  when  we  were  returning  from  a  walk, 
and  Mary  Lamb  took  the  opportunity  of 
calling  in  to  make  some  purchases  she 
needed  at  a  village  linen-draper's  shop  near 
Winchmore  Hill,  her  brother,  standing  by 
with  us,  addressed  the  mistress  of  the  shop 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  75 

in  a  tone  of  pretended  sympathy,  say- 
ing :  *  I  hear  that  trade  's  falling  off,  Mrs. 
Udall,  how  's  this  ? '  The  stout,  cherry 
woman  only  smiled  and  answered  good- 
humouredly,  for  it  was  evident  that  she 
was  acquainted  with  Charles  Lamb's  whim- 
sical way,  he  being  familiarly  known  at  the 
shops  where  his  sister  dealt. 

Another  time,  during  this  visit  to 
the  Lambs,  he  had  given  his  arm  to  me, 
and  left  my  husband  to  escort  Miss  Lamb, 
who  walked  at  rather  more  slow  a  pace 
than  her  brother,  while  we  were  going  to 
spend  the  evening  at  the  house  of  a 
somewhat  prim  lady  school-mistress.  On 
entering  the  room,  Charles  Lamb  intro- 
duced me  to  this  rather  formal  hostess 

with  the  words,  'Mrs. ,  I've  brought 

you  the  wife  of  the  man  who  mortally 
hates  your  husband,'  and  when  the  lady 
replied  by  a  polite  inquiry  after  Miss 
Lamb,  hoping  she  was  quite  well,  Charles 
Lamb  said,  'She  has  a  terrible  fit  of 
tooth-ache  this  evening,  so  Mr.  Cowden- 


;6  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Clarke  remained  to  keep  her  company/ 
Soon  after  this,  the  two  appearing,  Lamb 
went  on  to  say,  '  Mrs.  Cowden-Clarke  has 
been  telling  me,  as  we  came  along,  that 
she  hopes  that  you  have  sprats  for  supper/ 
The  lady's  puzzled  look,  contrasted  by 
the  smiling  calmness  with  which  we 
stood  by  listening  to  him,  were  precisely 
the  effects  that  amused  Lamb  to  produce. 
I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  never  stam- 
mered when  he  told  a  lie.  This  was 
in  humorous  reference  to  the  slight  hesi- 
tation in  his  speech  which  he  often  had 
when  talking. 

On  the  last  evening  of  this  delightful 
visit,  Charles  Lamb  (who  was  fond  of 
whist  and  had  asked  us  whether  we  were 
good  hands  at  the  game,  we  disclaiming 
any  such  excellence ;  this  had  brought  his 
rejoinder  of  *  Oh,  then,  I  '11  not  ask  you 
to  play ;  I  hate  playing  with  bad  players') 
said,  *  Let 's  have  a  game  of  whist,  just 
to  see  what  you  are  like ;  and  at  the 
end  of  the  trial  he  burst  out  with,  *  If 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  77 

I  had  known  you  could  play  as  well 
as  this,  we  would  have  had  whist  every 
evening/ 

He  was  the  cordialest  of  hosts, — 
playful,  genial,  hospitably  promotive  of 
pleasureable  things,  walks,  cheerful  meals, 
and  the  very  best  of  talk.  It  had  been 
said  of  him  that  he  always  said  the  best 
thing  of  the  evening,  when  even  the  finest 
spirits  of  the  time  met  together.  His 
hospitality,  while  we  were  visiting  him 
that  memorable  week,  the  incidents  of 
which  I  have  been  recording,  was  charac- 
teristically manifested  one  day,  in  his 
own  peculiarly  whimsical  way,  by  his 
starting  up  from  dinner,  hastening  to 
the  front  garden  gate,  and  opening  it 
for  a  donkey  that  he  saw  standing  there, 
and  looking,  as  Lamb  said,  as  if  it  wanted 
to  come  in  and  munch  some  of  the  grass 
growing  so  plentifully  behind  the  rail- 
ing. 

When  we  returned  home  to  enter  upon 
our  intended  course  of  life,  my  Charles  at 


78  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

once  made  himself  truly  one  of  the  family, 
taking  a  brotherly  interest  in  Alfred's 
preparations  for  soon  beginning  business 
as  a  music-seller;  in  Edward's  attendance 
at  Mr.  Sass's  School  of  Design,  having 
shown  decided  talent  for  drawing,  and 
possessing  an  ardent  desire  for  becoming 
an  artist;  in  Clara's  already  manifest 
vocal  ability  (she  was  but  three  years  old 
when  she  startled  her  parents  by  singing 
correctly  the  tune  of  '  Di  tanti  palpiti] 
which  she  had  merely  heard  played  on  a 
barrel-organ  in  the  street ;  and  I  often 
afterwards  used  to  see  my  father  call  her 
to  the  piano,  with  her  doll  in  her  arms,  to 
sing  some  song  of  Handel's  or  Mozart's 
that  he  had  taught  her,  while  still  a  mere 
child) ;  and  in  the  lessons  of  the  two 
youngest  girls,  which  lessons  Charles  gave 
them  himself.  The  two  children  used  to 
lie  down  on  the  carpet,  one  on  each  side  of 
his  chair,  with  their  slates  and  their  books 
before  them,  while  he  continued  his  own 
writing,  until  his  little  pupils  should  be 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  79 

ready    to   repeat    the    lessons    they   had 
learned. 

He  busied  himself  with  the  articles  he 
had  to  write  for  the  '  Atlas '  newspaper, 
on  the  staff  of  which  he  was  engaged  for 
notices  of  the  *  Fine  Arts.'  And  with 
papers  on  '  Theatricals  '  for  the  '  Examiner ' 
newspaper.  This  latter-named  engage- 
ment afforded  us  most  congenial  enter- 
tainments for  our  evenings,  since  it  took 
us  perpetually  to  the  different  theatres, 
sometimes  having  to  go  to  two  of  them 
on  the  same  evening,  —  perhaps  a  new 
comedy  at  Drury  Lane  or  Covent  Garden 
followed  by  a  new  farce  at  the  Haymarket 
or  Lyceum.  Not  being  able  to  afford  a  cab, 
we  used  to  trudge  on  foot  to  each  of  these 
appointed  houses,  Charles  with  his  dress- 
coat  and  waistcoat  covered  by  a  cloak,  I 
with  *  full  dress,'  needed  for  the  '  Dress 
Circle,'  similarly  enveloped.  Heartily  did 
we  enjoy  these  necessary  economies ;  as 
indeed,  then  and  long  afterwards,  we  did 
during  the  period  when  they  had  to  be 


8o  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

practised.  Mutual  esteem  and  passionate 
attachment  made  poverty  (or  perhaps  I 
should  say  very  small  means)  seem  scarcely 
an  evil,  but,  on  the  contrary,  something  to 
be  cheerfully  and  willingly  borne,  being 
borne  together  and  for  the  sake  of  each 
other.  Moreover,  we  had  the  blessing  of 
generously  kind  parents,  who  let  us  con- 
tribute our  share  of  the  household  expenses 
at  such  convenient  periods  as  best  suited 
our  earned  receipts.  These  were  added 
to  by  Charles's  acceptance  of  a  thoroughly 
uncongenial  post  as  editor  of,  and  writer 
in,  a  periodical  entitled  *  The  Repertory  of 
Patent  Inventions.'  But  he  and  we  all 
took  refuge  from  the  dryness  of  the  task 
by  making  it  the  subject  of  constant 
laughter  and  jest  in  our  family  circle. 
Not  one  of  us  read  it ;  not  one  of  us  cared 
even  to  look  at  it,  save  on  a  single  occasion, 
when  Charles,  having  indulged  himself  by 
writing  a  rather  facetious  article  on  some 
heavy  newly-invented  manufacture,  was 
rebuked  by  a  communication  from  a  per- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  81 

son  signing  himself  *  Fairy  '  (of  all  names 
in  the  world  !)  for  writing  so  lightly  on  such 
a  weightily  important  theme !  To  recur  to 
the  pleasanter  subject  of  the  theatrical 
notices  Charles  had  to  write,  and  the 
theatre-goings  they  involved  for  us  both. 
We  had  before  then  had  the  good  fortune 
to  see  the  very  best  acting ;  that  of  Edmund 
Kean,  Dowton,  Munden,  Listen,  the  elder 
Mathews,  Miss  Kelly,  Mrs.  Davenport,  etc. 
The  first  named  I  had  seen  in  his  rarely 
performed  part  of  Luke,  in  a  play  called 
'  Riches/  and  also  as  Sir  Giles  Overreach 
in  Massinger's  '  A  New  Way  to  pay  Old 
Debts.'  As  Luke  I  remember  his  entrance 
while  supposed  to  be  desperately  poor, 
—  his  head  bent,  his  whole  frame  stooping, 
his  clothes  of  the  meanest,  and  bearing 
beneath  his  arms  and  dependent  from  his 
hands  various  bundles  he  had  been  ordered 
to  carry.  Of  his  Sir  Giles  Overreach  I 
chiefly  remember  the  death-scene.  Kean 
lay  prostrate  near  to  the  footlights,  his 
face  and  figure  clearly  visible  to  the 


82  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

audience,  and  fearfully  true  to  the  ebbing 
of  life  was  the  picture  they  presented.  In 
4  Othello/  a  striking  point  was  the  mode 
in  which  he  clung  to  the  side-scene  when 
uttering  the  words,  '  Not  a  jot,  not  a  jot,' 
in  Act  iii.,  scene  3,  as  if  trying  to  steady 
himself  against  the  heart-blow  he  was 
receiving.  Towards  the  latter  portion  of 
his  career,  Kean  most  frequently  played 
Sky  lock,  and  grand  was  his  playing 
throughout.  But  a  superb  piece  of  action 
and  voice  was  his,  as  he  delivered  the 
speech,  concluding  with  the  words  —  *  The 
villany  you  teach  me,  I  will  execute ;  and 
it  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will  better  the 
instruction.'  He  seemed  positively  to 
writhe  from  head  to  foot  as  he  poured 
forth  his  anguished  recapitulation  of  his 
own  and  his  nation's  wrongs,  of  his  deadly 
hatred  of  the  wrongers,  and  of  his  as 
deadly  determination  to  have  his  revenge 
upon  them.  Dowton's  great  part  of  Dr. 
Cantwell  in  *  The  Hypocrite '  (Gibber's 
translated  version  of  Moliere's  '  Tartuffe ' ) 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  83 

was  impressed  upon  my  memory,  if  only 
by  the  tone  of  his  voice  —  subdued,  would- 
be-meek —  while  Cantwell  is  sustaining 
the  appearance  of  prone  devotion,  and  the 
insolent  loudness  of  the  tone,  when,  the 
mask  thrown  off,  he  proclaims  himself 
master  of  the  house  and  all  its  inmates. 
In  the  first  place  he  calls  to  Sir  John 
Lambert's  Secretary,  softly  and  mildly, 
'Charles!'  in  utter  contrast  with  the 
mode  in  which  he  roughly  and  peremp- 
torily calls  out  to  him,  in  the  latter  case, 

•  Seyward  ! '     The  two  so  remarkably  dif- 
fering tones  still  seem  to  reach  my  ears 
as  I  write. 

Munden  could  be  impressive  in  grave 
characters  as  well  as  great  in  ultra-comic 
power,  celebrated  by  Charles  Lamb  in  his 
Elia  paper,  entitled  '  On  the  Acting  of 
Munden.'  Besides  seeing  him  in  old 

*  Cockletop  '  and  in  '  Crack  the  Cobbler,' 
I  witnessed  his  admirable  performance  of 
old    Dornton    in  the  '  Road    to    Ruin,'  a 
perfect  gentleman  in  bearing  and  conduct, 


84  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

a  sorrowful  father  grieved  by  his  son's 
indiscretions.  His  very  commencement 
in  the  opening  scene  —  '  Past  two  o'clock 
and  Harry  not  yet  returned '  —  rings 
touchingly  even  now  upon  my  hearing, 
accompanied  as  the  words  were  by  the 
sad  and  anxious  look  upon  his  face  while 
drawing  the  watch  from  its  fob.  Liston, 
the  inimitable,  also  could  be  excellent  in 
pathetic  parts,  although  so  famed  for  his 
surpassing  comic  performances.  He,  too, 
had  been  written  of  by  Charles  Lamb, 
who,  in  one  instance,  wrote  what  he 
named  *  The  Biographical  Memoir  of  Mr. 
Liston '  —  absurdly  fictitious  but  cer- 
tainly most  humorous.  The  character  I 
saw  him  play,  where  he  had  one  scene  of 
profound  pathos,  was  Russet,  in  Colman's 
play  of  '  The  Jealous  Wife.'  The  father's 
agony,  when  he  fears  that  his  daughter 
has  been  carried  off  by  a  libertine  young 
man,  amounted  to  the  tragic  in  its  storm 
of  mingled  rage  and  grief.  Few  witness- 
ing his  power  of  serious  acting  in  that 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  85 

scene  could  believe  that  a  man  who  so 
often  made  them  burst  into  roars  of  laugh- 
ter was  one  and  the  same  individual.  I 
heard  that  Liston  once  laid  a  wager  with 
Kean  (who  had  said  that  nothing  could 
disturb  his  seriousness  while  on  the  stage) 
that  he  could  succeed  in  making  him 
laugh  even  there.  Once,  when  Kean  was 
playing  Rolla,  a  procession  of  veiled  Vir- 
gins of  the  Sun  had  to  enter  and  pass 
before  him.  The  first  virgin,  as  she 
passed,  suddenly  raised  her  veil,  con- 
fronted Kean  with  the  irresistible  visage 
of  Liston,  and  the  wager  was  won,  for 
Kean  went  off  into  an  incontrollable  fit  of 
laughter.  We  used  not  infrequently  to 
meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Liston  at  the  Lambs' 
apartments  while  they  lived  in  Russell 
Street,  Covent  Garden ;  and  I  once  heard 
Mrs.  Liston  sing.  It  was  in  a  small 
operatic  afterpiece.  She  had  a  very  sweet 
voice,  a  fair  complexion,  and  a  dumpling 
figure,  which  caused  some  wag  to  say  she 
looked  like  a  fillet  of  veal  upon  castors. 


86  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Another  of  our  early  dramatic  treats 
had  been  seeing  the  elder  Mathews  in  his 
celebrated  '  Entertainments,'  in  which  he 
not  only  represented  one,  but  often  several 
different  personages.  There  was  a  scene, 
where  two  burglars  were  supposed  to  be 
stealing  into  a  house  with  intention  to  rob. 
So  quickly  were  the  changes  of  garment 
effected,  while  passing  behind  a  screen,  or 
darting  swiftly  and  noiselessly  off  and  on 
the  side  scenes,  so  amazingly  well  altered 
were  the  manner,  voice,  and  look  of  the 
two  thieves,  that  it  was  scarcely  possible 
to  believe  them  to  be  the  same  individual. 
A  scene  in  another  of  these  '  Entertain- 
ments '  was  a  London  street  at  night, 
where  a  watchman's  box  occupied  the 
centre  of  the  stage.  Mathews,  as  an  old 
watchman,  entered,  and  after  a  grumbling 
speech  went  into  his  box  to  have  a  cosy 
nap.  Then,  successively,  came  along  the 
front  of  the  stage  some  of  the  actors  most 
popular  in  that  day,  supposed  to  be  re- 
turning home  after  the  night's  perform- 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  87 

ance  at  the  theatre.  Even  now  I  can 
hear  the  intonation  of  Kean's  voice  and 
imitation  of  his  look  as  given  by  Mathews 
while  passing  before  the  watch-box ;  then 
Braham,  then  Listen  and  several  others 
followed,  all  equally  '  done  to  the  life '  by 
the  wonderfully  accurate  mimic.  One  of 
his  most  famous  impersonations  in  still 
another  of  these  '  Entertainments '  was  an 
old  Scotchwoman,  garrulous  and  full  of 
anecdote ;  and  yet  another,  —  a  father  of  a 
family  conducting  his  youngsters  through 
the  illuminated  marvels  of  Vauxhall  Gar- 
dens, perpetually  slapping  and  cuffing  them 
to  keep  them  in  order  before  him,  and 
calling  out  -  -  *  Keep  together  !  keep  to- 
gether, I  tell  you  !  I  brought  you  out  to 
make  you  happy,  why  can't  you  keep 
together  ? ' 

During  the  time  of  our  theatre-goings 
after  marriage,  we  still  saw  delightful 
dramas,  wherein  Kean,  Dowton,  Munden, 
etc.,  were  the  chief  performers  at  Drury 
Lane  and  Covent  Garden,  while  at  the 


88  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

other  houses  we  had  the  gratification  of 
witnessing  many  '  First  Nights '  of  peculiar 
interest.  Charles's  engagement  to  write 
the  theatrical  notices  of  course  afforded 
peculiar  opportunity  for  this  privilege. 
Thus  we  were  present  when  several  of 
Douglas  Jerrold's  plays  came  out,  —  his 
1  Housekeeper,'  '  Nell  Gwynne,'  *  The 
Prisoner  of  War,'  '  Time  Works  Won- 
ders,' etc.,  —  and  we  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  author  himself  in  the  principal 
character  of  his  *  Painter  of  Ghent/  when 
he  played  it  for  the  first  few  nights.  We 
saw  Liston's  first  appearance  in  Poole's 
4  Paul  Pry,'  at  once  making  a  prodigious 
'hit.'  At  the  Olympic  we  were  among 
the  audience  when  Madame  Vestris  ap- 
peared as  '  Orpheus,'  clad  in  the  smallest 
amount  of  clothing  I  had  ever  then  seen 
worn  upon  the  stage.  Her  figure  was  per- 
fection. She  looked  like  an  exquisite 
Greek  statue.  In  a  shop  window  in  Ox- 
ford Street  there  used  to  be  seen  a  san- 
dal of  Madame  Vestris's,  her  foot  being 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  89 

renowned   for    its    small    size   and    great 
beauty. 

Our  evenings  at  the  theatres  brought  us 
frequently  into  companionship  with  that 
super-excellent  critic,  William  Hazlitt, 
who  was  likewise  occupied  in  writing  the- 
atrical notices,  —  those  for  the  *  Times ' 
newspaper.  It  was  always  a  treat  to  sit 
beside  him,  when  he  talked  delightfully ; 
and  once,  on  going  to  his  own  lodging,  he 
showed  us  a  copy  he  had  made  of  Titian's 
'  Ippolito  dei  Medici,'  and  conversed  finely 
upon  Titian's  genius.  Hazlitt's  gift  in 
painting  was  remarkable.  A  portrait  he 
took  of  his  old  nurse,  —  a  mere  head,  — 
the  upper  part  of  the  face  in  strong 
shadow  from  an  over-pending  black  silk 
bonnet  edged  with  black  lace,  while  the 
wrinkled  cheeks,  the  lines  about  the  mouth, 
with  the  touches  of  actual  and  reflected 
light,  were  given  with  such  vigour  and 
truth,  as  well  might  recall  the  style  of  the 
renowned  Flemish  master,  and  actually 
did  cause  a  good  judge  of  the  art  to  say 


90  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

to  Hazlitt,  —  *  Where  did  you  get  that 
Rembrandt  ? ' 

At  the  theatre  we  frequently  beheld 
Godwin,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  stage, 
his  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  while  his 
glistening  bald  head  —  which  somebody 
had  said  was  entirely  without  the  organ  of 
veneration  —  made  him  conspicuous  even 
at  a  distance ;  and  similarly  beheld  was 
Horace  Smith,  whose  profile  bore  a  re- 
markable likeness  to  that  of  Socrates  (as 
known  to  us  through  traditional  delinea- 
tion), and  whose  *  Rejected  Addresses 1 
were  so  admiringly  and  risibly  known 
to  us. 

When  the  first  anniversary  of  our  wed- 
ding came  round,  Charles  and  I  indulged 
ourselves  with  accepting  his  sister's  invi- 
tation to  spend  a  fortnight's  visit  to  her 
and  her  family  at  Standerwick.  A  pleas- 
ant and  even  memorable  time  it  was  to  us. 
The  house  stood  near  to  a  wooded  spot, 
where  we  could  hear  a  certain  kind  of 
thrush,  called  a  storm-cock,  sing  the  whole 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  91 

day  long,  with  a  perseverance  native  to 
him,  perched  on  the  top  of  a  high  tree. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Towers,  delightfully  hospi- 
table and  intent  upon  making  our  stay  in 
every  way  delightful  to  us,  taking  us 
charming  walks  to  see  all  the  most  pic- 
turesque spots  around  them,  and  fur- 
nishing the  most  interesting  topics  of 
conversation,  versed  as  they  both  were  in 
literature ;  while  Mr.  Towers  was  an  enthu- 
siastic lover  of  music,  no  mean  performer 
on  the  pianoforte  himself,  besides  being 
skilful  and  practical  in  chemistry.  It  was 
at  their  breakfast-table  one  morning  that 
regret  was  expressed  with  regard  to  there 
being  no  concordance  to  Shakespeare  in 
existence.  Eagerly,  as  is  my  nature,  I 
immediately  resolved  that  I  would  under- 
take this  work,  and,  accordingly,  when 
after  breakfast  a  walk  was  proposed  over 
to  Warminster,  I  took  with  me  a  volume 
of  Shakespeare,  a  pencil  and  paper,  and 
jotted  down  my  plan,  beginning  with  the 
first  line  of  my  intended  book.  During 


92  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

our  walk  we  chanced  to  pass  an  enclosure 
where  some  sea-gulls  were  kept  and  were 
screaming  loudly.  I  have  never  heard 
that  sound  since  but  I  have  associated 
it  with  that  day  of  commencing  my  sixteen 
years'  work. 

Besides  his  theatrical  and  fine  art 
notices,  Charles  busied  himself  with  writ- 
ing some  books  he  had  in  hand.  One 
was  a  tasteful  boy's  book,  called  '  Adam 
the  Gardener ' ;  another  was  his  beauti- 
fully-rendered '  Tales  from  Chaucer,'  and 
a  third  named  '  Nyren's  Cricketer's  Guide,1 
which  was  the  result  of  putting  into  read- 
able form  the  recollections  of  a  vigorous 
old  friend  who  had  been  a  famous  cricketer 
in  his  youth  and  early  manhood,  and  who, 
in  his  advanced  age,  used  to  come  and 
communicate  his  cricketing  experiences 
to  Charles  with  chuckling  pride  and  com- 
placent reminiscence. 

It  was  in  this  same  year  of  1829  that 
my  father  and  mother  took  a  journey  to 
Germany  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  to 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  93 

Mozart's  sister,  Madame  Sonnenberg  (who 
was  then  out  of  health  and  in  poor  cir- 
cumstances), a  sum  of  money  which  had 
been  subscribed  by  some  musical  admirers 
of  her  brother's  genius.  My  father  had 
been  the  originator  of  this  subscription, 
and  undertook  all  its  contingent  expenses 
himself;  therefore,  it  was  with  pleased 
zeal  that  he  went  on  this  expedition  to 
Salzburg.  He  kept  a  diary  during  its 
progress,  and  records  with  enthusiasm  its 
incidents.  Extracts  from  this  diary  are 
given  in  my  *  Life  and  Labours  of  Vincent 
Novello.' 

Ere  the  close  of  the  year,  Madame 
Sonnenberg  died,  and  Vincent  Novello 
crowned  his  tribute  of  respect  to  her  by 
getting  up  a  performance  of  her  illustrious 
brother's  '  Requiem,'  with  organ  accom- 
panied by  few  but  choice  instruments  and 
voices.  It  so  chanced  that  the  interest- 
ing performance  was  the  one  which  ter- 
minated the  renowned  series  that  had 
rendered  South  Street  Chapel  so  attractive 


94  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

to  musical  hearers;  for  soon  after  it  was 
closed,  and  the  Portuguese  Embassy  no 
longer  had  services  there. 

It  was  on  their  way  back  from  Germany 
that  my  parents  achieved  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  desire  to  place  their  daugh- 
ter Clara  in  the  Academy  of  Singing  for 
church  music  at  Paris,  where  Monsieur 
Choron  was  head-master  of  the  establish- 
ment. My  father  called  upon  him  and 
obtained  leave  for  Clara  to  enter  herself 
as  candidate  at  the  approaching  election 
which  was  to  take  place,  a  vacancy  for  a 
pupil  then  presenting  itself.  My  mother, 
with  her  usual  energetic  decision  and 
prompt  activity,  immediately  set  out  to 
fetch  Clara  in  time  for  the  day  of  trial. 
On  the  eve,  one  of  those  who  were  to  be 
her  judges  chancing  to  hear  her  rehears- 
ing, thought  it  must  be  a  girl  of  at  least 
fifteen  to  whom  he  listened,  so  fine  was  her 
style,  so  round  and  full  was  her  tone. 
Her  father  had  taught  her  so  well,  and 
had  so  accustomed  her  to  execute  Handel's 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  95 

noblest  sacred  songs,  as  well  as  Mozart's 
and  other  operatic  composers'  arias,  that 
she  was  thoroughly  versed  in  them. 
Therefore,  next  day,  when  she  went  through 
her  ordeal,  she  was  as  unperturbed  and 
calm  as  if  she  were  at  home ;  yet  she  was 
so  child-like  and  small  of  stature  that  she 
had  to  be  placed  upon  a  low  stool  in  order 
to  be  seen  by  her  umpires,  and  she  had 
attained  so  few  summers  of  life,  that  the 
self-possession  and  ability  with  which  she 
sang  the  '  Agnus  Dei '  from  Mozart's  Mass 
in  R,  No.  i,  and  Dr  Arne's,  '  The  Soldier 
tired,'  caused  her  to  be  unanimously  pro- 
nounced the  successful  candidate  against 
nineteen  competitors.  That  calm  self- 
possession,  when  she  sang,  lasted  always ; 
and  her  voice  in  its  silvery  sweetness,  with 
potency  of  tone,  exists  still  at  her  now  ad- 
vanced age.  Her  artistic  career  was  a 
series  of  brilliant  successes  (among  them  was 
her  having  been  received  lay  the  respective 
sovereigns  at  their  courts  of  Windsor,  Ber- 
lin, and  St.  Petersburg  with  even  kindly 


96  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

graciousness  ) ;  and  her  domestic  life  since 
has  been  a  very  happy  one. 

About  this  period  my  father  removed 
from  Great  Queen  Street  to  No.  67  Frith 
Street,  where  his  son  Alfred  was  to  begin 
business  as  a  music-seller.  Very  modest 
was  the  shop-front,  —  merely  a  couple  of 
parlour  windows  and  a  glass  door  display- 
ing a  few  title-pages  bearing  composers' 
names  of  sterling  merit,  with  Vincent 
Novello's  as  editor ;  but  this  simple  begin- 
ning led  to  an  eminent  result,  —  that  of  a 
sacred-music  warehouse  universally  dealt 
with  by  the  musical  world.  It  affords  a 
striking  example  of  the  success  that  attends 
genuine  love  of  art  and  zeal  in  promoting 
the  diffusion  of  its  means  for  cultivation 
on  the  part  of  him  who  edited,  together 
with  industry,  punctuality,  and  regularity 
on  the  part  of  the  young  publisher,  aided 
as  they  were  by  the  practical  counsel  and 
moral  encouragement  of  her  who  devoted 
herself  to  the  chief  aims  of  her  husband 
and  son,  - —  indeed,  of  all  her  children.  On 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  97 

the  evening  of  the  I5th  February,  1830, 
my  Charles  and  I  were  at  the  Lyceum 
Theatre,  where  a  French  company  were 
giving  performances.  We  saw  Potier,  a 
celebrated  comedian,  play  in  '  Le  Chiffon- 
nier,'  and  '  Le  Cuisinier  de  Buffon.'  A  few 
hours  after  we  left  the  theatre  it  was  burnt 
to  the  ground.  My  brothers,  Alfred  and 
Edward,  awakened  by  the  glare  in  the 
sky,  jumped  out  of  their  beds  and  ran  off 
to  see  the  conflagration.  When  they  re- 
counted at  breakfast-time  what  had  hap- 
pened during  the  night,  it  may  be  imagined 
how  fervent  was  our  gratitude  at  having 
escaped  so  great  a  peril. 

Not  long  after  that  event  my  husband 
and  I  spent  a  wonderful  hour  with  Cole- 
ridge. Charles  had  been  requested  by  his 
acquaintance,  Mr.  Edmund  Reade,  to  take 
a  message  for  him  to  the  venerable  poet, 
respecting  a  poem  lately  written  by  Mr. 
Reade,  called  '  Cain.'  Rejoiced  were  we  to 
have  this  occasion  for  a  visit  to  Coleridge, 
who  then  resided  at  Highgate,  in  Mr.  Col- 

7 


98  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

man's  house,  and  who  had  formerly  been 
known  to  Charles  at  Ramsgate,  through 
Charles  Lamb's  introduction.  When  I 
was  introduced  to  him  as  Vincent  Novello's 
eldest  daughter,  Coleridge  was  struck  by 
my  fathers  name,  knowing  it  to  be  that 
of  a  musician,  and  forthwith  plunged  into 
a  fervid  and  eloquent  praise  of  music, 
branching  into  explanation  of  an  idea  he 
had,  that  the  creation  of  the  universe  must 
have  been  accompanied  by  a  grand  pre- 
vailing harmony  of  spheral  music. 

In  that  same  spring  we  saw  Fanny 
Kemble  play  Portia  in  '  The  Merchant  of 
Venice '  for  her  first  benefit.  We  had 
been  in  the  house  the  previous  autumn 
when  she  made  her  debut  on  the  stage  in 
the  character  of  Juliet;  her  mother,  Mrs. 
Charles  Kemble,  reappearing,  for  that 
night  only,  as  Lady  Capulet^  Mrs.  Daven- 
port acting  the  nurse,  and  Charles  Kemble, 
Mercutio.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  public 
was  naturally  great,  for  it  was  known  that 
the  young  debutante  had  chosen  the  dra- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  99 

matic  profession  in  the  hope  of  saving  the 
fortunes  of  the  theatre,  then  at  a  low  ebb 
and  under  the  lesseeship  of  her  father,  while 
the  reappearance  of  her  mother  created 
additional  interest.  It  seems  but  yester- 
day that  we  saw  the  real  tears  flowing 
down  Mrs.  Charles  Kemble's  cheeks  at  the 
hearty  welcome  of  applause  that  greeted 
her  from  the  audience,  or  beheld  the  ani- 
mated entrance  of  Charles  Kemble  as  he 
sprang  forward  at  the  commencement  of 
act  ii.  with  the  elasticity  of  youth,  although 
we  heard  that  he  was  past  sixty  years  of 
age.  He  was  then  one  of  the  most  grace- 
fully vivacious  of  actors  in  characters  that 
required  personal  attraction  and  charm 
of  manner.  His  Archer  in  the  *  Beaux's 
Stratagem,'  where  a  gentleman  undertakes 
to  pass  for  a  footman,  was  so  unmistaka- 
bly the  former,  while  paying  court  to  a 
lady  in  gaily  free  style,  that  no  wonder 
Mrs.  Sullen  finds  him  well-nigh  irresistibly 
polished  and  winning  in  speech  and  man- 
ner. His  Captain  Absolute,  his  Benedick, 


ioo  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

his  Faulconbridge,  his  Cassio,  were  all 
perfect,  and  we  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
him  in  all  these  characters.  As  Cassio,  I 
remember  my  father  saying  that,  in  scene 
2,  act  iii.  of  '  Othello/  Charles  Kemble 
looked  like  a  drunken  man  trying  to  ap- 
pear sober,  instead  of  a  sober  man  trying 
to  look  drunk,  as  many  actors  do.  As 
Faulconbridge  he  seemed  the  embodiment 
of  English  chivalry,  while  in  the  scene  with 
his  mother,  Lady  Faulconbridge,  his  manly 
tenderness,  his  filial  coaxing  way  of  speak- 
ing and  putting  his  arm  round  her  as  he 
thanks  her  for  having  made  Richard  Cceur 
de  Lion  his  father,  was  something  to  be 
grateful  for  having  witnessed.  No  one 
but  Elliston  could  compete  with  Charles 
Kemble  for  his  supremely  winning  mode 
of  enacting  a  wooer.  We  saw  Fanny 
Kemble  many  times  and  in  her  best  parts, 
thinking  so  well  of  her  acting  that  we 
found  it  strange  when,  years  afterwards, 
we  read  her  slighting  mention  of  herself  as 
a  performer.  Certainly  her  Julia  in  Sher- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  101 

idan  Knowles's  play  of  'The  Hunchback* 
was  a  piece  of  nobly-conceived  and  exe- 
cuted impersonation,  while  the  way  in 
which  she  looked  and  acted  the  queen- 
mother  in  her  own  play  of  *  Francis  the 
First '  was  quite  admirable.  That  a  young 
girl  of  fifteen  should  have  written  that 
strong  play  was  in  itself  a  patent  proof  of 
her  innate  strength  and  talent  with  keen 
perception  of  dramatic  fitness.  The  second 
anniversary  of  our  wedding  day  was  spent 
delightfully  at  Cambridge.  My  father  had 
been  asked  by  the  authorities  of  the  Fitz- 
william  Museum  there  to  examine  the  large 
collection  of  musical  manuscripts  in  their 
library;  and  he  accordingly  visited  Cam- 
bridge many  times  at  his  own  expense  for 
that  purpose.  On  this  occasion  he  made 
his  visit  a  family  holiday,  taking  with  him 
his  wife,  his  son  Edward,  my  Charles,  and 
me.  Much  of  his  time  was  spent  in  mak- 
ing copies  of  some  of  these  MSS.,  chiefly 
those  by  masters  of  the  ancient  Italian 
school,  such  as  Buononcini,  Clari,  Caris- 


102  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

simi,  Leo,  Martini,  Palestrina,  Stradella, 
etc.,  and  some  of  these  MSS.  were  subse- 
quently printed  and  published  by  him 
under  the  name  of  '  The  Fitzwilliam 
Music.' 

My  brother  Edward  had  made  such 
good  use  of  his  studies  under  Mr.  Sass, 
and  had  worked  so  diligently  at  home, 
practising  in  oils  as  well  as  in  water- 
colours,  that  he  made  use  of  his  visit  to 
Cambridge  by  taking  copies  of  some  of 
the  fine  pictures  in  the  Fitzwilliam  Mu- 
seum. His  beautiful  copy  of  Rembrandt's 
*  Dutch  Officer  '  (life  size)  and  of  Annibale 
Caracci's  '  St.  Roch  and  the  Angel '  were 
the  result  of  his  painting  there,  and  are 
still  among  our  preserved  treasures  that 
we  owe  to  him  in  the  picture-gallery  of 
our  present  Italian  home.  Edward's 
steady  perseverance  and  industry  —  more 
or  less  characterising  all  my  father's  chil- 
dren, and  inherited  from  him  — existed  in 
a  remarkable  degree  in  our  young  artist. 
He  was  scarcely  ever  without  a  paint- 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  103 

brush  in  his  hand  during  the  day;  and  of 
an  evening,  when  reading  aloud  was  going 
on,  he  had  always  pen  and  pencil  before 
him,  wherewith  he  made  sketches  of  the 
various  characters  in  the  books  thus  pe- 
rused. His  original  pictures  are  several : 
—  My  father's  portrait  (a  perfect  likeness), 
my  mother's,  my  sister  Clara's,  his  own 
face,  wearing  various  expressions;  Illus- 
trations to  Charles's  '  Tales  from  Chaucer/ 
'St.  John  preaching  in  the  Wilderness/ 
and  a  large  family  picture  of  fourteen 
figures,  —  my  father  at  the  pianoforte,  sur- 
rounded by  his  wife  and  children  and  one 
or  two  musical  friends.  Some  dainty 
water-colour  pictures  he  also  produced,  — 
four  poetical  representations  of  '  The  Four 
Seasons,'  and  a  lovely  one  of  '  Christ  near 
His  Tomb,  seen  by  Mary  Magdalene,  who 
takes  Him  for  the  Gardener,'  besides  many 
others  in  the  same  style.  The  copies 
Edward  made  of  celebrated  pictures  are 
numerous;  among  them  are  Rubens's 
'  Triumph  of  Silenus/  Titian's  '  Entomb- 


104  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

ment  of  Christ,'  Raphael's  f  Head  of  a 
Friend,'  Vandyke's  '  Head  of  the  Young 
Duke  of  Buckingham,'  etc.,  etc.  All  these 
paintings,  amounting  to  more  than  a  hun- 
dred, by  one  who  was  still  in  his  youth,  for 
we  lost  him  a  few  months  ere  he  attained 
his  twenty-third  birthday. 

While  we  were  at  Cambridge  we  were 
introduced  to  some  of  its  Fellows,  and 
we  enjoyed  many  delicious  wanderings  in 
the  gardens  belonging  to  the  different 
colleges.  At  that  of  Pembroke,  Charles 
took  his  hat  off  beneath  the  tree  said 
to  have  been  planted  by  Milton.  At  St. 
John's,  we  stood  and  gazed  many  times, 
admiring  the  beautiful  architecture  of  its 
chapel,  and  lingered  listening  to  the 
*  murmur  of  innumerable  bees'  above  our 
heads  among  the  tall  lime-trees  of  the 
noble  avenue.  In  these  gardens  we  had 
a  rather  amusing  incident.  We  had  taken 
a  basket  containing  some  almond  cakes 
to  crunch  while  we  sat  to  rest,  but  when 
we  quitted  the  gardens  we  had  forgotten 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  105 

our  intention  and  left  the  basket  and  its 
contents  on  one  of  the  seats.  One  of  the 
Fellows,  finding  this  supply  of  goodies, 
disposed  of  them  on  the  spot,  but  hear- 
ing afterwards  who  were  their  owners 
and  that  we  were  leaving  Cambridge,  he 
sent  us  a  basket  of  similar  cakes,  inscribed 
with  the  words,  *  Viaticum  for  the  journey/ 
He  was  a  very  agreeable  gentleman,  and 
for  some  time  after  kept  up  the  acquaint- 
ance he  had  made  with  us  at  Cambridge. 
During  our  stay  in  that  noble  place  of 
learning,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  hear 
a  Greek  oration  delivered  by  one  of  the 
students  there.  The  sonorous  beauty  of 
the  language  gratified  my  ear  with  a 
lasting  recollection  of  its  rich  sound. 
My  husband  availed  himself  of  the  advan- 
tage gained  from  this  visit,  by  writing 
two  letters  on  the  Fitzwilliam  Museum 
at  Cambridge  for  the  '  Atlas '  newspaper, 
and  in  the  autumn  of  that  year,  Leigh 
Hunt's  *  Tatler '  having  been  started, 
Charles  was  engaged  to  write  several  of 


io6  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

its  theatrical  and  operatic  notices,  when 
its  editor  was  occasionally  otherwise  em- 
ployed in  literary  work.  We  were  still 
living  in  Frith  Street,  when  a  few  weeks 
of  anxiety  came  to  me.  My  husband  was 
not  quite  well,  and  grew  so  weak  that 
when  we  went  for  change  of  air  to  our 
dear  old  Enfield,  he — so  stout  a  walker 
and  so  swift  a  runner  —  had  to  take  my 
arm  once  as  we  slowly  ascended  Windmill 
Hill  together.  Enfield  air  not  effecting 
the  cure  we  had  hoped,  we  returned  to 
town ;  and  there  my  mother  prescribed 
a  daily  mutton-chop  and  a  glass  of  port 
wine  at  noon.  The  mutton-chop  I  took 
pleasure  and  pride  in  cooking  myself,  and 
I  think  I  may  venture  to  affirm  that  never 
was  mutton-chop  better  broiled.  Certain 
it  is  that  this  strengthening  regime  brought 
the  much-desired  cure.  We  continued  to 
practise  the  strict  economy  we  had  early 
agreed  to  observe;  and,  among  other 
savings  of  expense,  I  made  all  the  clothes 
I  wore,  as  v/ell  as  my  husband's  dress 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  107 

waistcoats.  One  of  these  I  especially  re- 
member, for  it  was  embroidered  on  black 
satin,  with  a  wreath  of  ivy  leaves  and 
berries  in  their  natural  colours  as  its 
border.  I  mention  these  particulars  in 
order  to  show  that  a  woman  who  adopts 
literary  work  as  her  profession  need  not 
either  neglect  or  be  deficient  in  the 
more  usually  feminine  accomplishments  of 
cookery  and  needlework. 

We  spent  very  happy  days  at  this  junc- 
ture. My  father  had  the  joy  of  seeing 
his  sons  and  daughters  beginning  their 
several  appointed  pursuits  in  life  prosper- 
ously, and  of  having  them  in  his  own 
home  give  evidence  of  the  musical  talent 
they  inherited  from  him,  and  the  pro- 
ficiency they  had  severally  attained  there- 
in. Among  his  younger  daughters  he 
had  soprano  voices,  and  his  eldest  daugh- 
ter supplied  him  with  a  meek  counter- 
tenor. His  sons  Alfred  and  Edward  had 
each  a  bass  voice,  and  his  son-in-law, 
Charles,  sang  tenor.  No  day  passed  with- 


io8  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

out  my  father's  own  canon  4  in  2,  *  Give 
thanks  to  God/  being  sung  as  a  grace 
after  dinner ;  and  no  first  of  May  was 
allowed  to  pass  without  my  husband's 
song,  *  Old  May  Morning,'  set  to  music 
by  my  father,  being  invariably  sung  by  us 
to  him.  We  had  not  yet  left  Frith  Street 
when  a  most  memorable  musical  evening 
took  place  there.  It  was  just  after  Mali- 
bran's  marriage  with  De  Beriot,  and  they 
both  came  to  a  party  at  our  house.  De 
Beriot  played  in  a  string  quartette  by 
Haydn,  his  tone  being  one  of  the  love- 
liest I  ever  heard  on  the  violin,  —  not  ex- 
cepting that  of  Paganini,  who  certainly 
was  a  marvellous  executant.  Then  Mali- 
bran  gave,  in  generously  lavish  succession, 
Mozart's  '  Non  piu  di  fiori,'  with  Will- 
man's  obligate  accompaniment  on  the 
Corno  di  bassette ;  a  '  Sancta  Maria '  of 
her  host's  composition  (which  she  sang  at 
sight  with  consummate  effect  and  expres- 
sion) ;  a  tenderly  graceful  air,  *  Ah,  rien 
n'est  doux  comme  la  voix  qui  dit  je 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  109 

t'aime,'  and  lastly  a  spirited  mariners'  song, 
with  a  sailorly  burden,  chiming  with  their 
rope  hauling.  In  these  two  latter  she 
accompanied  herself ;  and  when  she  had 
concluded,  amid  a  rave  of  admiring  plau- 
dits from  all  present,  she  ran  up  to  one 
of  the  heartiest  among  the  applauding 
guests,  Felix  Mendelssohn,  and  said,  in 
her  own  winning,  playfully  imperious 
manner  (which  a  touch  of  foreign  speech 
and  accent  made  only  the  more  fascinat- 
ing), —  *  Now,  Mr.  Mendelssohn,  I  never 
do  nothing  for  nothing ;  you  must  play 
for  me  now  I  have  sung  for  you/  He, 
*  nothing  loath/  let  her  lead  him  to  the 
pianoforte,  where  he  dashed  into  a  won- 
derfully impulsive  extempore,  —  masterly, 
musician-like,  full  of  gusto.  In  this  mar- 
vellous improvisation  he  introduced  the 
several  pieces  Malibran  had  just  sung, 
working  them  with  admirable  skill  one 
after  the  other,  and  finally  in  combina- 
tion, the  four  subjects  blended  together 
in  elaborate  counter-point.  When  Mendels- 


i  io  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

sohn  had  finished  playing,  my  father 
turned  to  a  friend  near  him  and  said, — 
'  He  has  done  some  things  that  seem 
to  me  to  be  impossible,  even  after  I  have 
heard  them  done.'  A  strong  proof  was 
given  of  the  effect  Mendelssohn  had  pro- 
duced upon  the  musical  soul  of  the  host 
of  the  evening  by  his  writing,  the  very 
next  morning,  the  canon  just  alluded  to, 
which  the  composer  entitled  *  A  Thanks- 
giving after  Enjoyment/  The  visit  Men- 
delssohn was  then  paying  to  England  was 
the  first  season  of  a  German  operatic  com- 
pany's performance  in  London,  at  the 
Italian  Opera  House,  in  the  Haymarket; 
and  the  morning  after  it  had  given  Beet- 
hoven's *  Fidelio,'  with  Haitzinger  as  Flor- 
estan>  and  Schroeder  Devrient  as  Leonora^ 
Mendelssohn  called  upon  my  father,  and 
sitting  near  the  pianoforte,  turned  every 
few  minutes  to  the  instrument,  playing 
favourite  '  bits '  from  the  opera  of  over- 
night. My  father  was  so  enchanted  with 
this  young  musician's  genius,  that  one 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  in 

of  his  friends  said  to  him,  —  *  Novello, 
you  '11  spoil  that  young  man.'  The  reply 
was,  —  4  He 's  too  genuinely  good  to  be 
spoiled.'  I  had  the  privilege  of  being 
taken  by  my  father  to  hear  Felix  Men- 
delssohn play  on  the  St.  Paul's  organ, 
and  a  masterful  piece  of  pedal-playing  it 
was.  The  last  time  I  heard  him  in  Eng- 
land was  at  a  concert  of  the  Philhar- 
monic Society,  when  he  played  Bach's 
fugue  on  his  own  name.  At  one  of  the 
Dlisseldorf  festivals,  I  had  the  privilege  of 
meeting  Mendelssohn  a  good  deal.  He 
conducted  his  own  fine  psalm,  '  As  the 
hart  pants/  played  some  of  his  own  com- 
positions ;  and  I  even  had  the  rare  privi- 
lege of  hearing  him  sing,  at  a  morning 
rehearsal,  when  he  wanted  to  give  the 
artist  who  was  to  sing  the  song  in  the 
evening  a  precise  idea  of  how  he  wished 
a  particular  passage  to  be  rendered.  His 
voice  was  small  —  like  that  of  many 
composers  —  but  capable  of  most  musi- 
cian-like expression.  He  was  very  com- 


ii2  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

panionable  and  easy  in  manner.  Once 
he  and  I  had  a  quiet  talk  together,  he 
leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair  and  ask- 
ing news  of  the  London  Philharmonic 
Society,  while,  on  another  morning,  he 
invited  us  (my  mother  and  Clara,  with 
whom  I  was  at  that  time  in  Dusseldorf 
for  a  holiday  on  the  Rhine)  to  go  with 
him  to  the  public  gardens  and  taste  some 
Maitrank,  as  we  had  not  already  made 
acquaintance  with  that  famous  Rhenish 
beverage.  He  was  much  amused  at  our 
saying  it  was  *  nice,  innocent  stuff/  and 
warned  us  not  to  imagine  it  'too 
innocent.' 

Another  delightful  musician  who,  while 
he  was  in  London,  came  to  see  my 
father,  was  Hummel.  He,  like  Mendels- 
sohn, was  great  in  improvisation.  So 
symmetrical,  correct,  and  mature  in  con- 
struction was  it,  that,  as  my  father's  musical 
friend,  Charles  Stokes,  observed,  '  You 
might  count  the  time  to  every  bar  he 
played  while  improvising.' 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  113 

Early  in  1834  my  father  removed  from 
Frith  Street  to  69  Dean  Street,  his  son 
Alfred's  music-selling  business  having  so 
much  increased  as  to  require  larger  prem- 
ises. It  was  the  year  of  the  Westminster 
Abbey  festival.  My  father  was  engaged 
to  preside  at  the  organ,  and  his  daughter 
Clara,  Miss  Stephens,  and  other  vocalists 
were  the  singers  on  this  notable  occasion. 
I  remember  hearing  Miss  Stephens  saying, 
just  before  she  entered  the  choir  to  sing 
'  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,'  '  Any 
young  girl  I  knew,  however  great  her  ex- 
cellence in  singing  might  be,  I  would 
never  advise  to  enter  the  profession  if  she 
suffered  from  nervousness.  I  have  never 
got  over  that  which  I  feel  when  I  have  to 
sing  before  the  public.'  She  had  then 
been  an  established  favourite  for  years, 
and  was  especially  famed  for  singing 
ballads  exquisitely.  Her  *  Auld  Robin 
Gray '  was  noted  for  its  pathos  and  beauty. 
The  remark  she  made  at  the  abbey  was 
elicited  by  Clara's  enviable  calmness  and 


114  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

absence  of  anything  like  trepidation  while 
singing  the  lovely  air  allotted  to  her, 
1  How  beautiful  are  the  feet'  That  quiet 
truthfulness,  that  pure,  firm,  silvery  voice 
precisely  suited  the  devout  words.  And 
as  regards  Clara's  subsequent  singing  of 
the  very  song  Miss  Stephens  had  then  to 
sing,  it  was  remarkable  for  the  pious 
fervour  of  its  pouring  forth.  Clara  said 
that  she  always  felt,  while  singing  '  I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth,'  that  she  was 
performing  an  act  of  faith.  When  she  was 
at  the  Court  of  Berlin,  some  years  after- 
wards, his  Prussian  Majesty  always  asked 
her  to  repeat  to  him  that  particular  song 
each  time  she  went  to  the  palace. 

It  was  while  we  were  living  at  Dean 
Street  that  my  sister  Cecilia's  marriage 
took  place.  She  had  already  made  a 
good  musical  career ;  for  she  —  like  us  all 
—  had  begun  early  an  active  entrance  upon 
industrial  life.  She  had  sung  in  various 
musical  pieces  at  London  theatres,  and 
had  pleased  greatly  as  an  opera-singer 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  115 

for  two  seasons  at  Edinburgh.  She  married 
Mr.  Serle,  author  of  several  dramas  and 
two  romances,  besides  being  editor  for 
some  years  of  a  London  newspaper.  At 
Cecilia's  wedding-breakfast  we  first  made 
acquaintance  with  that  fine  wit,  —  dear 
Douglas  Jerrold.  Hardly  a  greater  mis- 
take could  be  made  than  to  attribute  bit- 
terness or  ill-nature  to  Douglas  Jerrold's 
sharpest  sarcasms,  as  sometimes  was  the 
case  by  those  who  merely  heard  of  them 
and  did  not  know  his  real  nature.  We, 
who  did  know  him,  understood  them 
better.  He  was  deeply  earnest  in  all 
serious  things,  and  very  much  in  earnest 
when  dealing  with  less  apparently  im- 
portant matters,  which  he  thought  needed 
the  scourge  of  a  sarcasm.  His  concern 
for  the  object  of  his  satirical  quips  was 
often  at  the  root  of  them  ;  and  he  would 
pour  forth  his  keen  flights  of  pointed 
arrows  chiefly  with  the  view  of  rousing 
to  improvement  his  butt,  whom  he  knew 
capable  of  better  things,  and  on  whom 


ii6  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  shafts  of  his  ridicule  might  tell  to 
good  purpose  rather  than  harm.  This 
was  the  origin  of  many  of  the  sharp  things 
he  said  against  woman  ;  for  instance,  such 
as  those  he  wrote  in  *  The  Man  made  of 
Money/  '  Mrs.  Caudle's  Lectures,'  etc. 
He  reserved  to  himself  the  right  to  snub 
the  Mrs.  Jerichos  and  the  Mrs.  Caudles 
among  the  sex,  to  rebuke  their  shrewish 
use  of  tongue,  their  hen-peckings,  their 
unworthy  wheedling  and  meannesses  ;  but 
he  had  faith  in  the  innate  worth  of  woman- 
hood, and  its  superiority  to  such  base- 
nesses, where  it  trusts  its  own  honest  nature 
and  disdains  resorting  to  such  degrading 
tricks  of  hectoring  or  coaxing.  Of 
woman's  generous  unselfishness  and  quiet 
heroism  Jerrold  had  full  perception,  as  we 
had  many  opportunities  of  noticing,  in 
some  of  the  side  remarks  he  occasionally 
let  fall  in  conversation  with  us. 

As  a  token  of  his  belief  that  he  was 
entirely  understood  and  appreciated  by  my 
Charles  and  me,  I  may  mention  that  when 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  117 

he  brought  his  '  Mrs.  Caudle's  Lectures '  as 
a  presentation  copy  to  me,  he  had  written 
in  its  blank  page,  —  *  Presented  with  great 
timidity,  but  equal  regard,  to  Mrs.  Cowden- 
Clarke,  by  Douglas  Jerrold.'  His  promp- 
titude as  well  as  stinging  power  in  retort 
is  well  known ;  the  words  that  excited  his 
reprisals  had  scarcely  issued  from  the 
mouth  of  him  who  spoke  them,  when  out 
sprang  Jerrold's  reply.  To  the  man  who 
said,  '  Ah,  Lamartine  and  I  row  in  the 
same  boat,'  the  answer,  *  Not  with  the 
same  scull,  though/  was  given  without  a 
second's  pause. 

Many  a  charmingly  witty  letter  did  we 
receive  from  Douglas  Jerrold;  many  a 
delightful  hour  of  talk  did  we  enjoy  with 
him ;  and  he  became  a  dear  and  admired 
friend  of  ours. 

*  Poor  and  content  is  rich  and  rich 
enough,'  truly  and  wisely  says  our  beloved 
Shakespeare ;  certain  it  is  that  my  husband 
and  I  verified  to  the  utmost  these  words. 
We  were  happiest  of  the  happy,  not  only 


u8  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

while  practising  strictest  economy,  but 
in  availing  ourselves  of  every  literary 
or  artistic  means  for  gaining  addition  to 
our  scanty  income.  One  of  these  means 
presented  itself  in  an  engagement  to  sing 
in  the  services  of  Somers  Town  chapel, 
where  my  brother  Alfred  sang  bass  and 
led  the  choir.  This  engagement  was  the 
means  of  our  hearing  Cardinal  Wiseman 
preach  a  beautiful  and  learned  sermon 
upon  altar  pieces,  one  of  them  having 
been  a  recent  donation  to  that  chapel. 
His  learning  —  great  as  it  was  —  always 
seemed  to  be  ready  stored  at  his  command, 
but  never  allowed  to  be  brought  out  os- 
tentatiously. We  had  the  great  pleas- 
ure of  hearing  him  deliver  a  lecture  at  the 
Marylebone  Institution,  on  the  influence 
of  words  at  various  epochs  of  *  civilisation 
in  the  world.'  He  showed  how  far  supe- 
rior, in  impressive  effect,  were  such  simple 
words  as  *  graveyard,'  '  God's  acre/  to  the 
more  classically-derived  names,  — '  necrop- 
olis/ or  *  cemetery ; '  or  such  an  expression 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  119 

as  '  child-murder  '  to  *  infanticide.'  I  shall 
not  easily  forget  the  manner  in  which  he 
discussed  the  absolute  necessity  of  keep- 
ing one's  temper  as  the  best,  nay  only, 
means  of  obtaining  and  preserving '  power.' 
He  seemed  to  rise  several  inches  as  he 
drew  up  his  person  to  its  full  height  in 
pronouncing  that  single  word.  He  was  of 
rotund  proportions,  and  he  used  to  relate 
with  great  gusto  the  circumstance  that 
when  he  was  staying  at  Lord  Clifford's 
house,  Ugbrook  Park,  one  of  the  maid- 
servants there,  who  had  been  told  that  his 
proper  title  was  *  your  Eminence,'  used  to 
say,  as  she  dropped  her  reverential  curtsey, 
*  Yes,  your  Immense.'  This  same  damsel 
—  who  evidently  possessed  no  accurate 
ear  —  when  twelve  Jesuits  were  on  a  visit 
to  Ugbrook,  said,  '  There  's  a  matter  of 
a  dozen  Jezebels  come  here.'  Cardinal 
Wiseman's  lecture  on  *  William  Shake- 
speare '  is  one  of  the  very  best  commen- 
taries on  our  greatest  poet  that  I  know. 
It  was  printed  and  published  in  1865,  after 


120  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

its  author's  decease ;  but  the  preface  states 
that  the  Cardinal  would  have  desired  '  it 
should  be  given  to  the  people  of  England 
as  the  last  work  he  undertook  for  their 
sake.J 

Another  source  of  gaining  increase  of 
pelf  arose  out  of  Charles's  gift  in  reading 
aloud  untiringly,  together  with  his  possess- 
ing a  speaking  voice  so  full,  so  flexible, 
so  varied  in  expression  and  intonation, 
that  it  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  addressing 
a  large  audience.  These  natural  advan- 
tages suggested  to  me  the  idea  that  he 
would  succeed  capitally  as  a  lecturer ;  and 
on  telling  him  this,  we  talked  the  matter 
over  together  (according  to  his  wonted 
habit  of  consulting  his  wife  on  all  projects), 
and  he  not  only  adopted  the  idea,  but  set 
to  work  at  once  in  selecting  subjects  from 
among  his  favourite  poetic  authors,  and  in 
forming  plans  for  obtaining  engagements 
to  deliver  his  lectures  when  written.  The 
complete  success  that  crowned  this  under- 
taking cannot  be  better  manifested  than 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  121 

by  quoting  from  what  his  friend,  the  en- 
thusiastic Shakespearian,  Mr.  Sam  Tim- 
mins,  wrote  when  requested  to  give  a 
record  of  Charles  Cowden-Clarke's  career 
as  lecturer.  The  following  is  the  passage 
to  which  I  allude  :  *  He  began  the  great 
work  of  his  life  —  the  public  lectures  on 
Shakespeare  and  other  dramatists  and 
poets  —  which  made  his  name  throughout 
Great  Britain,  and  secured  him  crowded 
and  delighted  audiences.  His  lecturing 
career  commenced  at  a  period  when  me- 
chanics' institutions  were  waning  in  in- 
terest, and  a  demand  was  growing  for 
lectures  of  a  more  literary  and  attractive 
character  than  merely  scientific  lectures, 
even  with  many  experiments  and  demon- 
strations, could  supply.  The  lecture-room 
was  just  beginning  to  be  the  school-house 
of  the  middle  classes,  whose  education  had 
been  imperfect,  but  who  had  acquired  the 
desire  to  learn  more.  Such  a  demand 
Cowden-Clarke  was  especially  qualified  to 
supply,  and  his  lectures  soon  became  the 


122  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

great  attraction  at  "  Atheneum,"  and  "  In- 
stitute," and  "  Lecture-hall,"  all  through  the 
land.  His  lectures  were  really  "  lectures," 
read  from  MS.  most  carefully  prepared 
and  splendidly  and  clearly  written  in  the 
old  style  "  round  hand  "  which  Lamb  ad- 
mired. They  were  not,  however,  merely 
"  read,"  but  every  word  was  given  with 
such  earnestness  and  force  that  every 
hearer  caught  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
lecturer,  and  was  led  to  go  home  and 
read  more. 

'  As  a  lecturer,  Cowden-Clarke  had  very 
special  qualifications.  He  had  a  pleasant, 
cheerful,  ruddy  face,  a  charming  humour 
of  expression,  a  clear,  pleasant  voice,  and 
a  heartiness  and  drollness  of  manner  which 
won  the  audience  as  soon  as  he  appeared. 
His  were  careful  essays,  the  result  of  long 
and  patient  study,  full  of  acute  and  subtle 
criticism,  and  always  throwing  new  lights 
on  the  subject  in  hand.  The  expectations 
of  his  audience  were  aroused,  and  they 
were  never  disappointed.  His  good  taste 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  123 

secured  audiences  who  never  entered  a 
theatre,  and  to  whom  the  drama  generally 
was  a  sealed  book.  He  lectured  on  Shake- 
speare, —  his  fools,  his  clowns,  his  kings  ; 
on  special  characters  or  plays ;  and  every 
library  soon  found  an  increased  demand 
for  Shakespeare's  works,  and  new  editions 
were  soon  forthcoming.  It  is  no  exag- 
geration to  say  that  very  much  of  the 
increased  interest  in  Shakespeare  among 
English  readers  is  to  be  traced  to  the 
lectures  of  Cowden-Clarke.  One  of  his 
hearers  once  hit  the  secret  of  his  success. 
"  You  like  what  you  are  talking  about, 
and  therefore  you  make  your  hearers  like 
it  too."  Throughout  Great  Britain  he  was 
ever  welcome,  and  his  loss  as  a  lecturer 
was  never  fully  made  up,  for  he  combined 
so  many  attractions  of  subject,  style,  treat- 
ment, personation,  and  humour  as  are 
very  rarely  found  united  in  one  person. 
While  his  analysis  of  dramatic  characters 
was  masterly  and  searching,  and  his 
touches  of  pathos  delicately  suggestive, 


124  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  full  force  of  his  delineations  came  out 
in  his  representation  of  comic  characters 
from  Shakespeare  and  Moliere  especially. 
He  was  not  a  mere  rhetorician,  elocution- 
ist, or  actor.  He  never  attempted  to  per- 
sonate the  characters,  but  only  to  read 
with  such  interest  and  power  as  to  realise 
the  very  "  form  and  fashion  "  of  each.  He 
was,  in  fact,  as  dramatically  successful  as  a 
"  reader  "  of  the  highest  class  as  Dickens 
when  reading  his  own  stories ;  and  Cow- 
den-Clarke's  range  was  wider  and  his  char- 
acters more  varied.' 

Charles's  first-delivered  lecture  ('  On 
Chaucer ')  was  at  Royston  in  1835,  and  he 
at  once  achieved  success ;  receiving  such 
unanimous  plaudits  and  testimonies  of  ad- 
miration not  only  from  his  audience,  but 
from  several  residents  in  the  town,  who, 
hearing  the  impression  he  had  produced, 
invited  him  to  their  houses  and  became 
permanent  friends.  This  was  the  case  in 
many  places  where  he  subsequently  lec- 
tured ;  men  of  distinguished  talent  and 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  125 

eminence  forming  lifelong  friendships  with 
him.  At  first,  when  he  lectured  at  pro- 
vincial institutions,  he  took  me  with  him ; 
but  finding  this  naturally  diminished  our 
profits,  we  agreed  to  forego  this  pleasure 
by  limiting  it  to  my  accompanying  him  to 
the  railway  station  when  he  left,  and  meet- 
ing him  there  when  he  returned  home. 
Our  daily  interchange  of  letters  made  the 
best  compensation  for  absence  from  each 
other ;  and  he  never  failed  in  sending  me 
one  —  sometimes  two  —  daily.  His  hand- 
writing was  a  nobly  clear  one.  He  pre- 
ferred reading  his  lectures  from  his  own 
MS.  even  to  reading  them  from  print, 
when  some  of  them,  in  after  years,  ap- 
peared in  book  form.  When  he  was  in 
London  he  kept  brother  Alfred's  ledgers 
and  day-books  posted  up,  and  he  made 
fair  copies  of  almost  everything  that  he  or 
I  wrote  for  publication.  In  order  to  en- 
sure perfectly  effective  delivery  when  lec- 
turing, he  invariably  rehearsed  the  lecture 
to  be  given  in  the  evening  by  reading  it 


126  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

aloud  that  same  morning.  When  he  was 
in  town,  he  read  it  to  me ;  when  away 
from  town,  he  read  it  aloud  to  himself,  so 
unsparing  of  pains  was  he  in  everything 
he  undertook.  While  thus  engaged  in 
his  lecturing  and  book-keeping,  Charles 
still  maintained  his  other  writing  in  liter- 
ary work.  He  wrote  *  The  Musician  about 
Town,'  and  a  lovely  tale  called  *  Gentle- 
ness is  Power,  or  the  story  of  Caranza 
and  Aborzuf,'  for  the  '  Analyst  Magazine.' 
He  was  almost  an  exceptional  husband  in 
his  generous  mode  of  making  the  mascu- 
line prerogative  of  complete  marital  sway 
cede  to  his  idea  of  the  right  and  happiness 
of  conjugal  equality.  He  brought  every 
guinea  he  earned  to  me  to  take  care  of, 
and  whenever  I  consulted  him  on  any 
needful  purchase,  his  answer  always  was : 
— '  It  is  as  much  your  money  as  mine,  do 
what  you  think  well  with  it ;  buy  what 
you  think  proper,  and  what  we  can  best 
afford.'  After  some  time  of  our  living  in 
Dean  Street,  my  father  removed  to  Bays- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  127 

water,  where  we  first  inhabited  No.  4, 
Craven  Hill,  and  subsequently  No.  9, 
which  was  called  'Craven  Hill  Cottage.' 
These  houses  were  pleasantly  simple,  and 
had  a  field,  skirted  by  a  row  of  fine 
tall  trees,  in  front  of  them;  trees  also 
ruthlessly  hewn  down,  when  so-called 
'  improvements  '  in  later  years  were  com- 
menced. Both  our  Craven  Hill  home- 
steads had  small  gardens  behind  them, 
beyond  which  gardens  was  still  another 
field.  But  I  have  learned  that  the  whole  of 
this  pretty  locality  has  given  place  to  mod- 
ernly  built  ranges  of  tall  edifices,  fashionable 
houses,  and  '  desirable  residences.7  When 
we  removed  to  Bayswater,  Alfred  still 
went  up  to  business  at  69  Dean  Street ; 
and  my  sister  Sabilla  organised  a  singing 
class  there  for  young  ladies,  to  which  she 
and  I  went  on  the  appointed  days  each 
week.  My  father,  with  his  wonted  assi- 
duity wherever  music  was  concerned,  in- 
variably used  to  hear  me  go  through  the 
pieces  that  were  to  be  performed  every 


128  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

morning  before  I  went  up  to  town  with 
my  sister,  who  wished  me  to  join  those  of 
her  pupils  who  had  counter-tenor  voices. 
Sabilla's  artistic  career  was  a  congenial 
one.  She  was  a  favourite  concert-singer 
for  some  years ;  she  made  her  dlbut  on 
the  stage  in  Rossini's  '  Sa  Gazzaladra  ' ; 
she  sang  his  *  Semiramide '  and  other 
prima-donna  parts  in  Dublin  ;  she  was  an 
admirable  teacher  of  vocalisation,  and  wrote 
an  excellent  treatise  on  '  Voice  and  Vocal 
Art.'  My  father  had  the  delight  of  seeing 
his  children  succeed  in  all  the  professional 
careers  they  themselves  had  respectively 
chosen,  and  our  life  at  Bayswater  was  a 
very  cheerful  and  interesting  one.  We 
had  for  neighbours  there  two  that  were 
especially  productive  of  pleasure  to  us. 
Mrs.  Loudon  and  her  daughter  Agnes 
occupied  one  house  in  Porchester  Ter- 
race, while  the  Reverend  Mr.  Tagart  and 
his  family  resided  at  another  in  the  same 
road,  which  was  close  to  Craven  Hill,  —  so 
close,  that  a  hood  and  shawl  over  my  dress 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  129 

sufficed  me  for  going  to  visit  at  either 
house.  At  Mrs.  Loudon's  we  met  the 
Landseers.  —  Edwin  and  Charles  ;  Martin, 
the  painter  of  '  Belshazzar's  Feast,'  etc. ; 
his  clever-headed  and  amiable  daughter, 
Miss  Martin ;  Joseph  Bonomi  and  his 
wife,  who  was  another  daughter  of  Martin  ; 
Owen  Jones ;  Noel  Humphreys ;  Samuel 
Lover,  author  of  that  sprightly  novel, 
'Rory  O'More';  William  Jerdan  and 
others.  Of  Edwin  Landseer  we  heard 
the  amusing  incident  of  his  having  been 
at  the  English  Court  when  the  King  of 
Portugal  was  on  a  visit  to  our  Queen,  and 
the  celebrated  painter  of  animals  being 
presented  to  him,  his  Portuguese  Majesty 
graciously  said :  '  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Landseer,  for  I  am  very  fond  of 
beasts.'  We  also  heard  of  Edwin  Land- 
seer's  wonderful  feat  when  some  one  was 
talking  of  being  able  to  write  or  draw 
with  the  left  hand,  and  he  remarked  :  '  I 
think  I  can  not  only  draw  with  my  left 
hand,  but  I  can  draw  with  both  hands  at 


130  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

once.'  Whereupon  he  took  up  two  pen- 
cils and  actually  drew  a  horse  with  one 
hand  and  a  dog  with  the  other,  at  the 
same  time. 

At  the  Reverend  Mr.  Tagart's  house 
we  met  serene-spirited  Emerson  and 
other  noted  Americans ;  and  one  morn- 
ing Mrs.  Tagart  sent  round  a  message 
telling  me  that,  if  Charles  and  I  would 
go  and  lunch  with  her,  she  expected 
Mrs.  Gaskell  to  come  and  see  her  then, 
knowing  how  glad  we  should  be  to  meet 
the  authoress  of  '  Mary  Barton '  (a  book 
that  Charles  Dickens  had  written  his 
thanks  for,  and  admiration  of,  to  Mrs. 
Gaskell  herself).  It  was  just  like  Mrs. 
Tagart's  thoughtful  kindness  to  send  us 
this  welcome  invitation.  The  lady  guest 
proved  to  be  a  remarkably  quiet-mannered 
woman  ;  thoroughly  unaffected,  thoroughly 
attractive ;  so  modest  that  she  blushed 
like  a  girl  when  we  hazarded  some  ex- 
pression of  our  ardent  admiration  of 
her  *  Mary  Barton.'  So  full  of  enthusiasm 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  131 

on  general  subjects  of  humanity  and 
benevolence  that  she  talked  freely  and 
animatedly  at  once  upon  them  with 
us ;  and  so  young  in  appearance  and 
manner  that  we  could  hardly  believe  her 
to  be  the  mother  of  two  daughters  she 
mentioned  in  terms  that  showed  them 
to  be  no  longer  children. 

It  was  while  we  were  living  at  Craven 
Hill  that  I  finished  my  '  Concordance  to 
Shakespeare,'  writing  the  last  line  of 
the  work  on  my  dear  mother's  birthday, 
the  i  yth  of  August,  1841.  When,  later 
on,  it  was  published,  the  correction  of 
the  proofs  and  seeing  it  through  the  Press 
occupied  a  considerable  time  of  additional 
labour.  I  there  wrote  my  '  Kit  Barn's 
Adventures  and  my  novel  of  *  The  Iron 
Cousin  ' ;  but  before  these  two  books  were 
published  we  took  a  most  delightful  holi- 
day journey  to  Italy  in  1847.  We  had  but 
a  month  to  spare  from  our  several  avoca- 
tions, but  on  consultation  together  we  re- 
solved to  make  the  sacrifice;  for,  as  my 


132  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

brother  Alfred  truly  observed,  '  If  we  had 
no  engagements  to  give  up,  we  should  be 
as  badly  off  as  to  be  without  any.'  Ac- 
cordingly, he  gave  up  some  of  his, 
and  my  sister  Sabilla  some  of  hers; 
but  thoroughly  we  enjoyed  our  trip  with 
our  dear  parents.  From  Ramsgate  to  Os- 
tend,  through  Germany,  by  the  Rhine,  to 
Switzerland,  by  the  Lake  of  Lucerne  to 
that  of  Como,  on  to  Milan,  Verona,  and 
Venice,  where  we  spent  an  enchanting 
few  days  ere  we  took  our  way  back  to 
England.  We  had  brought  with  us  the 
the  four  green-bound  books  in  which  my 
father  had  collected  and  arranged  for  us 
two  hundred  and  five  of  the  choicest  com- 
positions, such  as  Mozart's  '  Ave  Verum,' 
Leonard  Leo's  '  Kyrie  eleison,'  Wilbye's 
*  Flora  gave  me,'  Linley's  *  Let  me  careless,' 
etc.,  etc.  These  unaccompanied  concerted 
pieces  my  father  entitled  *  Music  for  the 
open  air/  and  they  enabled  us  to  give 
him  the  enjoyment  of  his  favourite 
gratification  whenever  he  and  we  spent 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  133 

a  day  in  the  fields  or  took  a  journey.  In 
Venice  they  were  specially  welcome  com- 
panions, for  they  accompanied  us  when- 
ever we  were  in  our  gondola,  gliding 
about  seeing  the  most  remarkable  spots 
in  that  uniquely  beautiful  city  of  the  sea ; 
and  then,  on  reaching  the  most  retired 
and  quiet  of  the  lagoons,  indulging  in  a 
family  quartett.  When  our  gondolier, 
Antonio,  perceived  this,  he  generally  chose 
one  of  the  less-frequented  water  streets, 
and  we  once  overheard  him  say  to  one 
of  his  fellow-gondoliers,  —  '  My  English 
people  often  sing,  I  can  tell  you,  and 
well,  too ! '  On  our  return  home  we 
found  that  Mrs.  London  was  getting  up, 
for  performance  at  her  house,  Sheridan's 
play  of  the  *  The  Rivals.'  Her  daughter 
was  to  play  Lydia  Languish,  while  Al- 
fred, Sabilla,  and  I  had  been  '  cast '  for 
three  of  the  characters,  —  nay,  four,  for 
my  brother  was  to  double  the  parts  of 
the  Coachman  and  David,  while  Sabilla 
was  to  play  Lucyy  and  I  was  to  enact 


134  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

Mrs.  Malaprop.  Other  friends  of  Mrs. 
Loudon  sustained  the  rest  of  the  char- 
acters, and  the  performance,  which  took 
place  the  loth  November,  1847,  was  com- 
pletely successful,  —  so  successful,  indeed, 
that  it  had  to  be  repeated  next  evening, 
and  again  on  the  i2th  of  the  ensuing 
January,  1848. 

These  private  theatricals  led  to  one  of 
the  most  peculiarly  bright  episodes  of  my 
life.  At  a  party  at  Mrs.  Tagart's  house  I 
was  introduced  by  Leigh  Hunt  to  Charles 
Dickens,  with  whom  we  had  been  for  some 
time  acquainted  through  his  delightful 
books,  and  he  had  been  always  spoken  of 
in  our  family  circle  as  *  dear  Dickens  7  or 
1  darling  Dickens  ' ;  therefore  it  may  easily 
be  conceived  how  pleased  and  proud  I  felt 
to  be  thus  personally  made  known  to  him. 
He  and  I  fell  at  once  into  liveliest  con- 
versation ;  and  just  before  he  was  taking 
leave,  he  said,  '  I  hear  you  have  been  play- 
ing Mrs.  Malaprop  lately.'  I  answered, 
*  Yes ;  and  I  hear  you  are  going  to  get  up 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  135 

an  amateur  performance  of  the  "  Merry 
Wives,"  so  I  could  be  your  Dame 
Quickly"  I  saw  that  he  did  not  take  this 
seriously;  accordingly,  I  wrote  to  him,  a 
day  or  two  after,  telling  him  I  was  in 
earnest  when  I  had  made  the  offer  to  act 
Dame  Quickly,  if  he  cared  to  let  me  do  so. 
The  note  I  received  in  reply  began  with 
a  sentence  that  threw  me  into  a  rapture  of 
excitement  and  delight.  The  sentence  was 
as  follows :  — 

*  DEAR  MRS.  COWDEN-CLARK,  —  I  did  not 
understand,  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
conversing  with  you  the  other  evening,  that 
you  had  really  considered  the  subject  and 
desired  to  play.  But  I  am  very  glad  to 
understand  it  now,  and  I  am  sure  there 
will  be  a  universal  sense  among  us  of  the 
grace  and  appropriateness  of  such  a  proceed- 
ing. .  .  .  Will  you  receive  this  as  a  sol- 
emn "  call  "  to  "  rehearsal  "  of  "  The  Merry 
Wives  "  at  Miss  Kelly's  theatre  to-morrow 
Saturday  week,  at  seven  in  the  evening  ? ' 


136  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

Although  I  am  naturally  shy,  I  have 
never  felt  shy  when  acting ;  but  it  must  be 
confessed  that  '  rehearsal '  was  somewhat 
of  a  heart-beating  affair  to  me,  as  I  had  to 
meet  and  speak  before  such  a  group  of 
distinguished  men  as  John  Forster,  editor 
of  the  '  Examiner  ' ;  Mark  Lemon,  editor 
of  '  Punch  ' ;  John  Leech,  its  inimitable 
illustrator ;  the  admirable  artistes,  Augus- 
tus Egg  and  Frank  Stone,  all  of  whom 
were  fellow-actors  in  Charles  Dickens's 
Amateur  Company.  But  he,  as  manager, 
presenting  me  to  them  with  his  usual  grace 
and  kindliness,  together  with  my  own  firm 
resolve  to  speak  out  clearly,  just  as  if  I 
were  at  performance  instead  of  rehearsal, 
helped  me  capitally  through  this  first  and 
most  formidable  evening.  On  the  night 
when  '  The  Merry  Wives  '  was  first  per- 
formed at  the  Haymarket  Theatre  (i5th 
of  May,  1848),  I  felt  not  a  shadow  of  that 
stage  fright,  although  I  had  to  make  my 
entrance  before  a  select  London  audience. 
As  I  stood  at  the  side  scene  with  Augustus 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  137 

Egg  (who  played  simple  Master  Slender  s 
man-servant),  waiting  to  go  on  together, 
he  asked  me  whether  I  felt  nervous.  *  Not 
in  the  least/  I  replied.  'What  I  feel  is 
joyful  excitement,  not  alarm.'  Augustus 
Egg's  artist  eye  remarked  the  appropriate- 
ness of  my  costume,  and  added,  '  It  looks 
not  so  new  as  those  made  by  the  theatrical 
robe-makers,  but  as  if  it  had  been  worn 
in  the  streets  of  Windsor  day  by  day.  I 
answered,  '  Well  it  may,  for  I  made  it 
myself,  and  with  material  already  part  of 
my  own  wear/  I  had  had  the  advantage 
of  Colonel  Hamilton's  obliging  suggestions 
and  sketches,  as  well  as  hints  I  took  from 
Kenny  Meadow's  picture  of  Dame  Quickly 
in  the  '  Illustrated  Shakespeare,'  published 
by  Lyas  in  1843. 

The  performance  of  '  The  Merry  Wives  ' 
at  the  Haymarket  Theatre  was  followed  by 
that  of  Ben  Jonson's  '  Every  Man  in  His 
Humour,'  and  Kenny's  farce  of  *  Love,  Law 
and  Physic,'  on  the  next  evening  but  one 
(i7th  May,  1848).  In  the  former  I  played 


138  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

Tib,  Cob's  wife  ;  and  in  the  latter,  Mrs. 
Hillary ;  and  for  both  these  characters  I 
made  my  own  dresses.  In  one  of  her 
concluding  scenes,  when  Mrs.  Hillary  pre- 
tends to  be  a  rich  Spanish  lady,  and  tries 
to  obtain  a  proposal  of  marriage  from 
Lubin  Log,  I  made  a  sparkling  addition 
to  the  velvet  dress  I  donned,  by  ornament- 
ing it  with  a  set  of  stage-diamond  buttons, 
which  had  belonged  to  Elliston,  had  been 
bought  by  my  sister  Cecilia,  and  was 
kindly  lent  by  her  to  me  for  this  purpose. 
Besides  these  large  buttons,  farther  effect 
was  produced  by  a  brilliant  tiara  of  the 
same  stage-gems,  with  which  I  fastened 
the  high  Spanish  comb  and  veil  I  wore  • 
and  Mark  Lemon,  who  enacted  Lubin 
Log  admirably,  used  to  make  a  point  of 
kissing  his  hand  to  these  diamonds,  show- 
ing what  was  his  chief  attraction  in  wooing 
this  supposed  heiress  to  millions.  Charles 
Dickens,  supreme  as  manager,  super-ex- 
cellent as  actor,  and  ardently  enthusiastic 
in  his  enjoyment  of  exercising  his  skill  in 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  139 

both  capacities,  organised  a  series  of  pro- 
vincial engagements  for  the  performance 
of  his  amateur  company.  At  Manchester,  on 
the  3rd  June,  1848,  we  played  '  The  Merry 
Wives  '  and  '  Animal  Magnetism  ' ;  at 
Liverpool,  on  the  5th  June,  1848,  'Merry 
Wives  '  and  *  Love,  Law  and  Physic ' ;  at 
Birmingham,  on  6th  June,  '  Every  Man  in 
His  Humour'  and  'Animal  Magnetism.' 
At  Birmingham  again,  on  the  27th  June, 
1848,  *  Merry  Wives,'  '  Love,  Law  and 
Physic,'  and  '  Two  o'clock  in  the  Morning  ' ; 
at  Edinburgh,  on  the  i;th  July,  1848, 
'  Merry  Wives,'  '  Love,  Law  and  Physic,' 
and  '  Two  o'clock  in  the  Morning  ' ;  at 
Glasgow,  on  the  i8th  July,  1848,  'Merry 
Wives  '  and  '  Animal  Magnetism  ' ;  and  at 
Glasgow,  on  the  2oth  July,  1848,  we  gave 
'  Used  up,' '  Love,  Law  and  Physic,'  and 
'  Two  o'clock  in  the  Morning.'  It  was 
our  last  performance  together,  and  we  not 
only  felt  regret  at  the  time  for  this  close  of 
our  happy  comradeship,  but  dear  Charles 
Dickens's  letters  for  a  long  time  afterwards 


140  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

expressed  his  pain  at  its  cessation.  Genial, 
kind,  most  sympathetic,  and  fascinating  was 
his  companionship,  and  very  precious  to 
me  was  his  friendship. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  my  dear 
mother's  health  became  so  delicate  that 
our  medical  adviser  counselled  her  re- 
moval to  a  warmer  climate  ;  and  she  chose 
Nice  (then  Italian)  for  the  proposed  pur- 
pose. My  sister  Sabilla  gave  up  all  her 
pursuits  in  England  and  accompanied  her 
abroad  ;  and  they  took  up  their  abode  in  a 
pleasant  set  of  apartments  in  a  house  that 
had  a  garden  stretching  down  to  the  sea- 
shore, and  was  so  truly  southern  that  it 
had  rose  hedges  taller  than  the  height  of 
a  man,  besides  having  abundance  of 
orange-trees  skirting  its  paths.  The  next 
year,  Alfred,  Charles,  and  I  (with  my  father, 
who  remained  at  Nice)  took  a  journey,  to 
spend  some  weeks  with  my  mother  and 
Sabilla,  during  the  long  vacation,  when  my 
brother  could  be  best  spared  from  his  bus- 
iness, and  a  delightful  time  we  had. 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  141 

On  our  return  to  Bayswater  we  three 
began  what  we  called  our  '  trihominate  ' 
homestead ;  and  we  tried  to  make  it  as 
cheerful  and  happy  as  we  could,  lessened 
as  it  now  was  by  the  absence  of  our  dear 
ones.  Weekly  interchange  of  long,  closely- 
written  letters  between  my  mother  and  me 
kept  us  mentally  together,  in  their  minute 
details  of  what  took  place  daily  at  each 
home.  We  were  interested  in  her  im- 
proved health  and  daily  drives  in  the  Nice 
picturesque  environs  or  walks  in  the  Nice 
garden ;  while  she  followed  all  our  dis- 
posals of  time  in  England.  They  were 
mostly  thus  :  My  dear  men-folk  went  up 
to  the  Dean  Street  music  warehouse  every 
morning  after  breakfast ;  I  attended  to  our 
household  arrangements,  and  worked  away 
at  my  writing  ('  The  Girlhood  of  Shake- 
speare's Heroines,'  etc.)  during  the  day, 
and  then  had  the  joy  of  walking  to  meet 
my  men-folk  on  their  way  home  to  din- 
ner, generally  taking  the  path  which  led 
through  Kensington  Gardens  and  Hyde 


142  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

Park  as  our  line  for  meeting.  We  resolved 
to  take  advantage  of  the  long  vacation 
each  year  for  a  journey  to  Nice,  when  I 
used  to  take  the  MSS.  of  those  books  I 
had  in  hand  with  me,  that  I  might  have 
the  pleasure  of  reading  them  to  my  mother, 
and  consulting  with  her  as  to  her  opinion 
and  judgment  respecting  them.  In  her 
drives  and  walks  she  always  made  me  her 
companion  until  the  time  arrived  for  our 
return  to  England.  On  one  of  these  Nice 
visits  of  ours  we  saw  Clara  for  the  first  time 
after  she  was  married  to  Count  Giglincci 
on  the  22  November  (St  Cecilia's  day), 
1843,  as  tney  had  always  since  their  mar- 
riage dwelt  in  his  patrimonial  mansion  at 
Fermo  on  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic.  But 
at  this  juncture  they  had  come  to  Nice  for 
a  change,  and  were  contemplating  Clara's 
resumption  of  her  artistic  career.  We 
also  then  made  acquaintance  with  her  four 
children  —  two  sons  and  two  daughters  — 
who,  I  must  say,  were  the  most  adorable 
human  cherubs  I  ever  beheld.  My  readers 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  143 

may  believe  me,  and  would  believe  me,  could 
they  have  seen  them,  with  their  fair  com- 
plexions and  floppy  golden  curls,  dancing 
about  in  their  grandmamma's  garden. 

We  were  preparing  for  our  yearly  visit 
to  Nice  in  1854  when  a  telegram  reached 
us  to  let  us  know  that  our  beloved  mother 
had  sunk  into  eternal  rest  on  the  23rd  July. 
Of  our  misery  at  this  irreparable  loss  I 
say  nothing,  even  if  I  could  find  words  to 
give  it  expression. 

In  1856  my  brother  Alfred  resolved  to 
retire  from  business,  which  he  made  over 
to  his  faithful  and  able  manager,  Mr. 
Henry  Littleton,  who  had  been  for  many 
years  known  to  him  as  an  excellent  aid 
and  seconder  in  all  his  views.  The  name 
of '  Novello  &  Company '  was  still  retained ; 
and  its  present  form  of  '  Novello,  Ewer  & 
Company '  adopted  at  a  later  date. 

Nice  was  selected  as  the  spot  which  the 
'  trihominate '  preferred,  for  the  sake  of 
its  climate  and  for  the  sake  of  its  associa- 
tions ;  also  because  my  father,  my  sister 


144  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

Sabilla,  and  the  young  Giglinccis  were 
dwelling  there.  These  latter  became  our 
chief  source  of  brightness,  and  producer  of 
the  cheerfulness  we  strove  earnestly  to 
maintain.  The  boys  Giovanni  and  Mario, 
had  been  placed  by  their  parents  in  col- 
lege, while  the  two  little  girls,  Porzia  and 
Valeria,  were  established  (under  the  care 
of  a  worthy  couple,  friends  of  the  Count) 
in  a  house  near  to  ours,  Maison  Quaglia. 
Charles  made  it  a  pleasure  to  give 
Clara's  little  girls  lessons  in  writing,  and 
in  correct  reading  of,  as  well  as  learning 
by  heart,  English  verse ;  while  to  see  him 
with  one  of  them  on  his  knee,  repeating 
her  *  Gay's  Fables,'  fondling  his  silver  hair, 
and  calling  him  her  '  dearest  boy,'  filled 
my  heart  with  happy  feeling.  Invariably 
these  lessons  were  at  a  table  on  which 
stood  a  case  of  English  barley-sugar,  im- 
ported expressly,  and  from  it  Porzia  and 
Valeria  were  permitted  to  help  themselves 
at  the  conclusion  of  their  so-called  c  tasks,1 
these  being  rather  play  work  than  task 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  145 

work.  From  then  to  the  present  time 
these  two  darlings  have  been  as  dear  to 
me  as  if  they  were  my  own  children. 

Time  passed  smoothly  on  during  our 
residence  at  Nice.  Charles  and  I  steadily 
pursued  our  literary  work,  he  bringing  out 
his  c  Riches  of  Chaucer/  and  his  *  Carmina 
Minime,1  besides  editing  the  text  of 
Nichol's  c  Library  Edition  of  the  British 
Poets,'  while  I  was  engaged  by  the  Messrs. 
Appleton  of  New  York  to  write  *  World- 
noted  Women,'  and  to  edit  their  edition 
of  Shakespeare.  This  last  work  was  the 
source  of  peculiar  pride  and  gratification 
to  my  husband  and  me,  inasmuch  as  it 
made  me  the  first  (and  as  yet,  only)  woman 
editor  of  our  great  poet.  We  took  daily- 
walks  together,  and  more  than  once  got 
up  before  dawn  to  see  the  sun  rise,  and 
Charles  continued  a  favourite  practice  of 
his  in  reading  a  bit  from  some  favourite 
author  to  me  before  we  all  met  at  our  first 
meal. 

Although  his  public  delivery  of  lectures 


TO 


I46  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

had  ceased  on  his  leaving  England,  yet  my 
husband  frequently  read  one  of  them  to  our 
friends  in  our  Nice  parlour,  and  he  never 
relinquished  a  time-honoured  custom  he 
had  of  reading  one  to  us  while  we  stoned 
raisins,  blanched  almonds,  cut  candied 
fruit,  etc.,  for  the  Christmas  pudding, 
which  we  continued  to  make  yearly  in 
honour  of  dear  old  England. 

Count  Giglincci  and  his  wife,  our  Clara, 
used  to  flit  over  to  Nice  whenever  they 
could  get  away  from  her  renewed  engage- 
ments, in  order  to  see  their  children  ;  and 
this  brought  us  delightful  music,  as  well 
as  was  the  cause  of  a  great  treat,  when 
Tamburini  came  one  afternoon  to  our 
house  and  sang  with  Clara  several  deli- 
cious operatic  duets.  He  kept  wonderfully 
young  and  alert,  and  was  very  gay  and 
bright  in  society.  He  laughed  playfully,  I 
recollect,  at  my  having  taken  part  in  a 
Mendelssohn  trio,  wherein  Clara  and  her 
daughter,  Porzia,  sang  the  two  soprano 
parts,  my  counter-tenor  being  correct,  but 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  147 

very  mild  in  tone,  as  usual.  Both  Clara's 
daughters,  although  such  mere  youngsters 
still,  were  already  musically  gifted,  and  at 
six  o'clock  one  morning  (my  birthday) 
Charles  and  I  were  awakened  by  hearing 
Clara,  Porzia,  and  Valeria  sing,  under  our 
window,  Mendelssohn's  charming  trio, 
'  Hearts  feel  that  love  thee.' 

Cecilia's  daughter  Mary,  my  god-daugh- 
ter, having  been  sent  to  school  at  Nice 
while  we  were  there,  Sabilla  got  up  a 
charming  series  of  concerts  for  the  three 
girls,  —  Mary,  Porzia,  and  Valeria,  —  for 
which  they  were  to  make  out  the  pro- 
grammes themselves  and  sing  the  pieces 
appointed  for  each  performance. 

More  than  one  distinguished  person 
were  visitors  of  ours  while  we  were  at 
Nice,  among  others  Mr.  Francis  Child,  an 
ardent  Chaucerian  then,  and  Professor  at 
Harvard  College,  Cambridge,  America, 
since.  He  is  author  of  a  poem  called 
'  The  Child  of  Bristowe,'  written  in  delight- 
fully antique  style  and  true  to  Chaucer's 


148  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

manner,  which  he  sent  to  us  some  years 
afterwards.  A  friend  of  his  —  who  also 
became  one  of  ours — was  likewise  at  Nice 
when  he  was  there.  This  was  Mrs.  John 
Farrar,  authoress  of  *  Advice  to  Young 
Ladies '  and  '  Recollections  of  Seventy 
Years.1  She  was  most  energetically  kind 
and  serviceable  to  sufferers  during  the 
American  war  between  North  and  South, 
and  as  clever  as  she  was  good. 

An  illustrious  visitor  gratified  us  by 
staying  at  our  house  for  a  few  days,  —  no 
other  than  Richard  Cobden,  who  had  been 
known  to  my  brother  Alfred  in  England 
at  the  time  of  the  '  Anti-Corn  Law  League.' 
Easy,  familiarly  at  home  with  us,  he  used 
to  read  his  English  newspapers  aloud  to 
us  or  chat  with  us  as  if  he  had  been  one 
of  our  family  circle  for  years,  and  when 
on  one  Christmas  Eve  we  made  our  tradi- 
tional plum-pudding  (Mrs.  Cobden  help- 
ing us  to  prepare  its  ingredients),  he  kept 
up  entertaining  conversation  the  while. 
Next  day,  when  the  pudding  was  to 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  149 

be  eaten,  and  he  with  my  brother  and 
sister  were  engaged  to  discuss  its  merits 
at  a  neighbouring  friend's  house,  Cobden 
looked  up  at  Charles  and  me  (who  were 
standing  on  the  terrace  steps  remaining 
at  home  to  keep  house)  and  expressed 
his  hearty  regret  that  we  should  not  be 
of  the  party  to  enjoy  this  truly  British 

*  consecrated  cate.' 

When  Nice  came  under  French  rule, 
we  found  many  of  its  ways  so  much 
changed  that  we  resolved  to  leave  it  for  an 
Italian  residence,  and  fixing  upon  Genova 
as  a  proved  excellent  climate,  Alfred  took 
Charles  and  me  with  him  to  see  if  we 
could  find  a  suitable  house  there.  We 
went  over  one  (very  near  to  that  we  have 
since  dwelt  in  for  more  than  thirty  years) 
which  was  so  curious  that  a  description  of 
it,  and  our  journey  to  and  from  Genova 
on  that  occasion,  was  written  by  me  in  a 
paper  entitled  *  The  Cornice  Road  in  Rain  ' 
(though  altered  by  the  editor  of  the 

*  Atlantic  Monthly  Magazine '  to,  I  think, 


ISO  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  less  individually  appropriate  name  of 
'  An  Italian  Rainstorm'),  because  my  kind 
friend,  James  T.  Fields,  had  requested  me 
to  contribute  an  article  to  that  magazine. 

Before  that  year  (1860)  was  ended, 
Alfred  and  Sabilla  went  again  to  Genova 
to  renew  his  search  for  a  domicile  that  we 
should  all  like;  and  when  he  returned 
home  to  Nice  he  told  us  that  he  had 
bought  the  house  and  garden  then  called 
Pallazzo  Massone,  and  subsequently  named 
Villa  Novello.  On  the  eleventh  of  the 
following  April,  Alfred  and  Sabilla  took 
possession  of  his  new  purchase,  but  Charles 
and  I  remained  at  Nice  with  my  father 
until  our  villa  should  be  put  in  order  for 
his  reception,  as  there  were  many  alter- 
ations needed  to  anglicise  it  and  make  it 
more  comfortable  to  live  in.  Alas!  that 
reception  was  destined  never  to  be.  Dur- 
ing the  spring  and  summer  my  dear  father 
was  better  than  he  had  been  for  some  time 
before.  He  read  my  preface  to  '  World- 
noted  Women,'  and  the  one  to  my  Ameri- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  151 

can  edition  of  Shakespeare,  saying  of  the 
latter,  in  his  encouraging  way,  —  *  It  does 
you  great  credit,  my  dear/  He  resumed 
his  reading  of  some  of  his  favourite  books, 
which  previously  he  had  not  cared  to  do. 
He  had  all  his  life  been  a  great  admirer  of 
Walter  Scott's  fine  novels,  and  the  one  he 
last  was  reading  ( *The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth ' ) 
I  found  face  downwards  at  the  page  where 
he  had  left  off  when  he  was  taken  ill. 
Throughout  that  illness  I  had  the  privilege 
of  attending  upon  him  night  and  day, 
Patient,  gentle,  affectionate,  he  blessed 
me  in  the  tenderest  terms,  in  words  that 
have  been  to  me  a  most  precious  bequest 
ever  since.  Without  pain,  but  desirous 
of  rest,  he  expired  in  the  evening  of  Qth 
August,  1864. 

A  fitting  memorial  was  allowed  by  the 
Dean  and  Chapter  of  Westminster  Abbey 
to  be  placed  in  the  North  Transept  there, 
in  the  shape  of  a  stained-glass  window,  its 
appropriate  subject  being  a  Saint  Cecilia, 
the  patron  saint  of  music. 


152  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

My  brother  Alfred  fetched  my  Charles 
and  me  to  Genova  from  Nice,  where  my 
sister  Sabilla,  with  her  usual  unselfish 
activity  in  helping  us,  stayed  to  take  the 
trouble  of  collecting  our  most-prized 
belongings,  —  pictures,  books,  etc.,  etc.,  and 
causing  them  to  be  safely  conveyed  to  our 
new  abode.  Being  perched  on  a  prom- 
ontorial  cliff,  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea,  this  villa  commands  a  mag- 
nificent view  of  the  harbour  and  bay  of 
Genova,  beyond  which  trends  the  coast 
of  the  Riviera  for  sixty  miles,  half-way  to 
Nice,  affording  sight  of  gorgeous  sunsets, 
often  increased  in  beauty  by  the  crescent 
moon  and  visiting  planets.  The  expanse 
of  sky  and  sea,  the  grandeur  of  this  western 
view,  cannot  be  taken  from  us  ;  but,  other- 
wise, we  have  been  the  victim — as  we 
were  at  Craven  Hill  —  of  so-called  *  im- 
provements/ When  we  first  came  here 
there  was  a  small  grove  of  cypress-trees, 
marking  the  spot  where  lay  the  remains 
of  numerous  persons  who  died  from  a 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  153 

visitation  of  cholera  one  season  long  be- 
fore. In  this  small  grove  was  annually 
sung  a  dirge  for  the  repose  of  the  souls 
of  those  who  lay  beneath,  by  some  priests 
from  the  neighbouring  church  of  San 
Giacomo,  at  early  dawn,  and  the  sound  of 
their  solemn  chaunting  rose  softly  and 
soothingly  to  our  ears  as  we  lay  and  lis- 
tened in  the  coming  on  of  morning  light. 
Then  came  a  time  when  a  decree  from 
high  quarters  swept  away  the  peaceful 
cypresses,  and  substituted  a  battery  of 
heavy  guns,  with  what  Leigh  Hunt  calls 
1  the  foul  cannon's  ever-gaping  mouth/ 
turned  seaward.  On  the  eastern  side  of 
our  cliff-demesne  there  were  three  minia- 
ture cemeteries,  —  one  dedicated  to  the 
Swiss  Protestants,  one  to  the  Hebrews,  and 
one  to  the  members  of  the  Greek  Church, 
—  all  three  united  amicably,  side  by  side, 
by  a  wooded  enclosure  of  cypresses  and 
one  graceful  cedar-tree.  Through  this 
cluster  came  goldenly  the  glories  of  sun- 
rise, and  amid  this  shade  more  than  one 


154  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

blackbird  and  thrush  built  their  nest,  and 
in  the  springtime  a  faithful  nightingale 
(William  Morris's  'brown  bird')  would 
linger  there  for  a  day  or  two  on  its  way 
to  the  closer  shelter  of  the  Pegli  Woods ; 
and  every  April  a  pair  of  hoopoes  would 
visit  us  from  Africa,  abide  a  fortnight  or 
three  weeks,  familiarly  pecking  about  the 
green  slope  immediately  beneath  our  win- 
dows, and  only  taking  refuge  with  slow 
flight,  plunging  into  the  thicket  of  cy- 
presses when  startled  by  chance  from  its 
grassy  meal  of  insects.  The  dark  verdure 
of  these  cemetery  trees  was  enlivened,  on 
our  side  of  the  enclosure  wall,  by  a  lush 
overgrowth  of  roses,  bignonias,  westaria, 
etc.,  while  up  some  of  the  slender  boles 
and  boughs  clambered  the  snowy  sprays 
of  the  rincas,  and  in  autumn  the  gorgeous 
crimson  of  the  Virginia  creeper  richly 
draped  them.  The  loveliness  of  these 
three  cemeteries  was  ruthlessly  snatched 
away  from  us  by  the  intrusion  of  a  *  new 
road/  that  cut  through  our  croquet- 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  155 

ground,  our  vineyard,  and  our  east  garden, 
—  that  moreover  led  from  nothing  to  no- 
where, and  that  had  its  principal  portion 
dedicated  to  drilling  recruits  of  a  morning 
when  practising  their  'goose-step,'  and  of 
an  afternoon  to  a  rabble  of  boys  out  of 
school  who  finish  their  education  by  stone- 
throwing  and  general  mischief.  Now,  to 
crown  this  disturbance  of  our  peaceful 
residence,  two  large  steam  hammers,  smok- 
ing and  banging  away  from  morning  to 
evening,  were  erected  beneath  our  win- 
dows, to  drive  piles  into  the  sandy  soil ; 
on  these  was  built  an  ugly  and  thoroughly 
useless  circular  terrace,  overlooking  the 
sea,  bare  of  trees,  exposed  to  rain,  dust, 
wind,  and  glare,  but  which  the  architect 
thereof  declared,  with  effusive  admiration 
of  his  own  design,  '  would  serve  for  the 
inhabitants  of  Geneva  to  contemplate  the 
horizon.'  Fortunately  for  us,  these  dev- 
astations were  accomplished  below  the 
level  of  our  house,  so  that  our  sea  views 
still  remain  visible. 


156  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

But  to  return  to  the  period  when  we 
first  lived  here.  My  earliest  piece  of  writ- 
ing, in  our  new  house,  was  one  I  had  much 
at  heart.  It  was  *  The  Life  and  Labours 
of  Vincent  Novello,'  for  I  earnestly  wished 
there  should  exist  a  record  of  the  immense 
amount  of  musical  work  which  his  indefat- 
igable industry  and  devotion  to  music  had 
achieved,  together  with  the  very  numerous 
publications  which  he  had  brought  out  to 
supply  the  world  of  music  with  delight, 
and  to  advance  the  knowledge  and  prac- 
tice of  this  enchanting  art.  My  health 
had  not  been  strong  since  his  loss,  and 
it  was  deemed  advisable  that  I  should 
have  change  of  air  and  scene  ;  accordingly, 
Sabilla,  Charles,  and  I  indulged  ourselves 
with  an  excursion  to  see  the  Correggio 
pictures  at  Parma,  and  the  Caracci  pic- 
tures at  Bologna.  Alfred  remained  at 
home  to  superintend  the  masons  employed 
about  the  house,  and  to  look  to  the  ar- 
rangement of  our  garden,  which  had  been 
little  better  than  a  cabbage-ground  before 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  157 

our  advent.  To  give  an  idea  of  the  task 
he  had  in  hand,  —  he  projected,  and  after 
some  considerable  time  effected,  the  mak- 
ing of  a  piece  of  road,  by  way  of  a  carriage 
drive,  between  the  entrance  gate  and  our 
house  door.  He  had  to  build  up  a  sup- 
porting wall  against  the  earth  of  our  west 
walk ;  he  pulled  down  some  ramshackle 
out-houses  that  formed  part  of  the  old 
edifice,  and  substituted  a  terrace,  paved 
with  Pompeian  tiles,  beneath  our  western 
windows,  preserving  opposite  to  them  the 
only  tree  we  found  here,  a  graceful  bay- 
laurel,  which  Alfred  kindly  called  my  tree, 
and  subsequently  trained  up  its  bole,  and 
among  its  central  branches,  a  climbing 
red  rose.  Beyond  the  bay-laurel  tree  a 
grass  plot,  or  moderate-sized  lawn,  with 
a  small  fountain,  backed  by  a  sculptured 
group  of  boys  at  play,  surrounded  by 
variegated  canes,  a  group  of  magnolias, 
a  Cedrus  deodara,  a  eucalyptus,  and  a 
wellingtonia,  —  both  of  these  trees  not 
taller  than  an  umbrella  when  he  first 


158  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

had  them  planted,  but  now  giants  of  fifty 
feet  high. 

In  that  same  year  we  took  a  short 
spring  flight  to  a  neighbouring  bathing- 
place  called  Acqua  Santa,  and  in  the  sum- 
mer a  longer  flight  to  Turin,  Paris,  and 
London,  where  we  saw  again  many  dear 
old  English  friends,  heard  the  Handel 
festival  in  the  Crystal  Palace,  and  were 
present  at  two  of  Charles  Dickens's  '  read- 
ings.' One  was  the  *  Christmas  Carol/ 
and  the  *  Trial  from  Pickwick,'  the  other 
was  from  *  Nicholas  Nickleby,'  —  *  Boots  at 
the  Holly  Inn,'  and  '  Mrs.  Gamp.' 

In  the  autumn  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
Italy's  grand  tragic  actress,  Ristori,  espe- 
cially great,  I  thought,  in  '  Ginditta '  and 
in  '  Elisabetta,  Regina  d'Inghilterra.'  We 
had  already  made  delighted  acquaintance 
with  two  of  the  most  excellent  comic  actors, 
Toselli  and  Pieri.  Toselli  we  had  first 
seen  in  Nice,  where  he  played  many  cap- 
ital characters  in  the  Piedmontese  dialect. 
His  style  was  exquisitely  peculiar  in  hu- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  159 

rnour,  and  Charles  was  so  enthusiastic  in 
his  applause  that  we  afterwards  heard  that 
Toselli  had  said,  'Whenever  my  Inglese 
is  among  the  audience,  I  always  play  better 
than  usual.1 

It  may  be  judged  how  prolonged  was 
the  work  of  putting  our  Genoese  house 
into  order,  when  I  mention  that  it  was 
only  in  November  that  our  dining-room 
was  completed,  and  we  able  to  eat  our 
first  Christmas  dinner  therein.  A  certain 
Signor  Boccardo  was  its  clever  decorator, 
and  so  excellent  in  all  respects  was  his 
work,  that  its  beautiful  design  and  the 
stable  colours  he  used  have  lasted  well  till 
now.  The  walls  of  our  picture  gallery 
were  painted  from  architectural  designs 
of  Salisbury  Cathedral,  and  our  vestibule 
and  staircase  have  frescoes  copied  from 
Raphael's  '  Hours.'  The  walls  of  our 
music  room  we  found  ornamented  in  the 
antique  Genoese  style  of  arabesque  paint- 
ing and  relievo  medallions.  This  ornamen- 
tation had  been  strangely  covered  over 


i6o  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

with  whitewash  by  former  occupants  (!), 
but  was  restored  by  an  Italian  artist  whom 
Alfred  employed  for  the  purpose. 

The  next  year,  1863,  is  chiefly  memo- 
rable to  me  from  its  being  the  one  in  which 
we  were  requested  by  Messrs.  Cassell  & 
Company  to  edit  their  annotated  edition 
of  Shakespeare,  and  we  began  the  work 
on  the  ist  of  September.  It  was  rather 
an  anxious  task,  as  we  had  to  'work  to 
time,'  for  the  edition  was  originally  brought 
out  in  weekly  numbers;  but  we  never  failed 
once  in  regular  pre-supply  of  the  requisite 
matter  for  the  printers.  Beside  his  joint- 
editing  with  me,  Charles  made  a  fair  copy 
of  the  '14,533  Notes,'  'Shakespeare  Pre- 
face/ etc.,  which  we  wrote  for  this  work,  as 
well  as  of  the  one  which  followed  it ;  for 
immediately  upon  its  completion,  we  began 
a  book  that  we  had  long  contemplated, 
—  *  The  Shakespeare  Key.'  We  finished 
our  annotated  edition  on  the  i6th  March, 
1868,  and  began  our  'Shakespeare  Key' 
two  days  after,  on  the  i8th  March,  1868, 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  161 

finishing  the  latter  on  the  iyth  June,  1872. 
These  nine  years  of  steady,  hard  work 
were  not  without  their  relief  of  pleasant 
recreations.  We  had  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing many  friends,  both  those  who  resided 
in  Italy  and  those  who  were  merely  pass- 
ing through  Geneva  on  their  way  to  or 
from  Rome,  Florence,  etc.  I  kept  a  visi- 
tors' book  wherein  to  note  these  latter, 
its  pages  having  three  columns  :  one  for 
the  name  of  the  visitor,  one  for  the  name 
of  the  introducer,  one  for  the  date  of  the 
visit  here.  Besides  seeing  friends,  we  had 
much  delightful  music.  My  sister  Sabilla 
got  up  some  charming  'Mattinate' ;  for 
which  she  prepared  the  programme  with 
the  greatest  care,  selecting  the  most  choice 
compositions  of  the  best  masters,  and 
engaging  the  best  available  artists  here 
for  their  due  performance.  With  these 
were  several  of  our  friends,  musically  ac- 
complished, and  she  always  provided 
*  supplements '  from  her  own  family,  in 
case  of  unforeseen  disappointments  from 


162  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

those  whose  names  had  been  previously 
announced  to  sing  or  play.  Thus,  some- 
times, my  father's  unaccompanied  selec- 
tions in  the  green  book  were  given ;  at 
other  times,  Sabilla  herself  sang  an  aria, 
or  Alfred  a  favourite  bass  song.  Besides 
these  home  concerts  (which  took  place  in 
our  picture  gallery  here),  Sabilla  wrote 
and  got  up  some  musical  charades,  sung 
and  acted  by  ourselves  and  a  few  friends, 
which  were  a  decided  success.  A  special 
musical  treat  was  enjoyed  by  us  during 
that  nine-year  interval,  for  in  1864  I  had 
the  delight  of  hearing  for  the  first  time, 
and  several  times  after,  Gounod's  immortal 
opera  of  *  Faust/  given  at  the  Carlo  Felice 
Theatre  here.  But  at  the  close  of  that 
interval  of  diligentyliterary  labour  we  gave 
ourselves  a  complete  holiday,  going  to 
Turin  on  the  I7th  July,  1872,  not  return- 
ing home  until  the  2d  of  September. 
While  we  were  at  the  then  capital  of  Italy 
we  took  the  opportunity  of  going  through 
the  then  lately  completed  tunnel  of  the 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  163 

Mont  Cenis  Pass,  intending  to  make  a 
short  excursion  into  France  ;  but  when  we 
arrived  on  the  northern  side  of  the  tunnel 
we  found  so  utterly  break-down-looking 
a  vehicle  to  convey  us  from  the  station, 
that  I  hesitated  to  get  into  it.  Where- 
upon I  heard  the  driver  say  to  his  com- 
panion, c  Mais  comment  f  cette  Dame  ne  vent 
pas  monies  dans  cette  belle  Caleche  /  '  We 
were  offered  the  alternative  of  mounting  on 
mules,  but  to  this  caracoling  style  of  travel 
we  preferred  walking.  The  inn  at  Modane, 
where  we  were  to  pass  the  night  before 
proceeding  farther,  proved  to  be  worthy  of 
its  '  belle  Cateche"  for  we  ate  through  a 
positive  haze  of  flies,  and  slept  in  a  room 
that  was  somewhat  suggestive  of  a  pigstye, 
as  regards  dirt  and  inconvenience.  We 
resolved  to  give  up  proceeding  farther,  and 
returned  at  once  to  Turin,  for  we  heard 
that  there  was  a  break  in  the  road  between 
St.  Jean,  Maurienne,  and  St.  Michael.  We 
enjoyed  several  delightful  drives  about  the 
Turinese  environs,  to  Stupinigi,  Veneria 


164  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Reale,  La  Crocetta,  Rivoli,  Moncalieri,  and 
frequently  by  the  spacious  Piazza  L'Armi, 
beyond  which  was  a  road  that  had,  at  one  of 
its  turnings,  a  particularly  graceful  statute 
of  a  nymph  at  a  fountain.  The  museum, 
picture  gallery,  and  the  King's  Garden  were 
frequent  haunts  of  ours  ;  we  were  taken  by 
one  of  its  distinguished  authorities,  Signor 
Lumbroso,  to  the  Biblioteca  del  Re;  and 
we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  Mozart's 
charming  opera,  '  Cosi  fau  tutte,'  very  well 
performed  at  the  Zerbino  Theatre. 

During  the  next  few  years  we  were  not 
wholly  idlers  in  the  way  of  literary  work. 
Charles  wrote  an  article  on  '  The  Old 
Schoolhouse  at  Enfield '  for  the '  St.  James's 
Magazine,'  and  we  wrote  together  our 
*  Recollections  of  Writers/  which  first 
appeared  serially  in  successive  numbers  of 
the  *  Gentleman's  Magazine,'  and  sub- 
sequently was  published  in  book  form ; 
while  I  amused  myself  with  writing  verses, 
feeling  encouraged  to  do  so  by  the  honour 
I  had  had  some  years  before  of  Charles 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  165 

Dickens  giving  insertion  in  his  *  All  the 
Year  Round '  to  two  of  my  verse-stories, 
1  The  Yule  Log'  and  'Minnie's  Musings,' 
besides  six  sonnets  on  'Godsends/  and  a 
few  stanzas  entitled  '  Time's  Healing.' 
In  1873  I  wrote  'The  Trust,'  and  'The 
Remittance/  printed  in  England  that  year, 
and  in  America  in  1874. 

Having  been  requested  to  contribute  to 
a  charitable  scheme  in  Rome,  we  wrote 
our  *  Idyl  of  London  Streets,7  and  sonnet 
on  '  The  Course  of  Time,'  to  be  printed 
in  Rome  as  a  booklet  for  that  purpose, 
and  it  appeared  in  1875. 

On  the  1 5th  of  December,  1876,  my 
Charles's  eighty-ninth  birthday  was  cele- 
brated by  our  family  circle  with  even  more 
than  usual  brightness,  —  bright  as  his  own 
ever-young  nature.  Verses  from  his  wife, 
letters  from  friends  at  a  distance,  presence 
of  friends  living  near,  smiles  from  relatives 
around  him,  a  huge  cake  lighted  by  wax 
tapers  (eight  green  for  the  decades,  nine 
white  for  the  years),  and,  to  crown  all, 


1 66  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

favourite  pieces  from  the  green-bound 
music  books  sung  to  him  by  his  nephews 
and  nieces,  made  the  day  a  supremely 
happy  one.  On  the  igth  of  February, 
1877,  we  took  our  last  walk  together  on 
the  terrace,  resting  between  whiles  beneath 
the  bay-laurel  tree,  and  looking  up  grate- 
fully at  the  clear,  blue  Italian  sky. 

On  the  1 3th  of  March,  1877,  the  spring 
sun  shining  on  his  bed,  I  received  his  last 
smile,  and  watched  beside  him  till  he  drew 
his  last  breath.  The  marble  that  marked 
his  grave  had  inscribed  on  one  of  its  sides 
his  chosen  crest  —  an  oak-branch;  his 
chosen  motto  —  Placidum  sub  libertate 
quietem ;  his  name  and  the  date  of  his 
birth  and  death  ;  on  the  reverse  side  was 
inscribed  his  own  characteristically  trust- 
ful, cheerful-spirited 

HIC  JACET. 

Let  not  a  bell  be  toll'd,  or  tear  be  shed 

When  I  am  dead ; 
Let  no  night-dog,  with  dreary  howl, 
Or  ghastly  shriek  of  boding  owl 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  167 

Make  harsh  a  change  so  calm,  so  hallowed  ; 

Lay  not  my  bed 
Mid  yews  and  never-blooming  cypresses, 

But  under  trees 

Of  simple  flower  and  odorous  breath, 
The  lime  and  dog-rose  ;  and  beneath 
Let  primrose  cups  give  up  their  honied  lees 

To  sucking  bees, 
Who  all  the  shining  day,  while  labouring, 

Shall  drink  and  sing 
A  requiem  o'er  my  peaceful  grave. 
For  I  would  cheerful  quiet  have ; 
Or,  no  noise  ruder  than  the  linnet's  wing 

Or  brook  gurgling. 

In  harmony  I  Ve  lived,  —  so  let  me  die, 
That  while  'mid  gentler  sounds  this  shell  doth  lie 
The  spirit  aloft  may  float  in  spheral  harmony. 

That  summer  I  was  invited  by  Count 
Giglincci  and  Clara  to  spend  some  weeks 
with  them  in  their  house  at  Fermo.  I 
found  it  a  truly  interesting  antique  Italian 
mansion.  On  its  ground  floor  was  a  suite 
of  apartments,  adjoining  each  other  in  the 
style  of  royal  palaces,  —  a  billiard-room,  an 
ante-room,  a  ball-room,  a  music-room,  etc., 
etc.  A  staircase  built  in  the  thickness  of 
a  wall  led  up  to  an  upper  range  of  rooms, 
where  the  family  lived  their  daily  domestic 


168  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

life.  A  private  chapel  formed  part  of  the 
edifice;  and  once,  when  Clara  took  me 
down  to  the  basement  portion  of  the  house, 
I  saw  a  highly-ornate  sedan  chair,  which 
used  to  convey  ancestral  countesses  Gig- 
lincci  to  the  church  or  to  the  opera,  —  for 
there  was  a  spacious  opera-house  and  a 
stately  cathedral.  The  cathedral  is  on  the 
summit  of  the  hill  on  which  Fermo  is 
situate,  and  it  is  a  very  fine  and  large 
cathedral  for  so  small  a  town  as  Fermo. 
Along  the  upper  range  of  rooms  above 
alluded  to,  there  runs  a  long  and  wide 
corridor,  at  one  end  of  which  is  a  colossal 
window,  commanding  a  noble  view  of  the 
Apennines,  including  the  mountain  known 
as  the  '  Gran  sesso  d'  Italia/  The  front 
of  the  house  faces  towards  the  champaign, 
stretching  down  the  hill's  descent  until  it 
reaches  the  Adriatic  Sea,  dotted  by  fishing 
vessels  with  their  variously  coloured  sails. 
Anything  more  hospitably  affectionate 
and  solicitously  careful  to  soothe  my 
thoughts  than  the  reception  I  met  with 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  169 

from  my  dear  ones  in  this  picturesque 
spot  cannot  be  imagined.  My  sister 
Clara,  when  I  had  rested  a  day  after  my 
journey,  asked  me  if  I  would  like  her  to 
sing  to  me.  With  joy  I  accepted,  and  we 
adjourned  at  once  downstairs  to  the  music- 
room,  called  'the  red  drawing-room/ 
Clara  bade  me  choose  the  song  I  should 
best  like  to  hear  her  sing  first,  and  I  chose 
her  Westminster  Abbey  festival  song 
*  How  beautiful  are  the  feet,'  its  angelic 
promise  bringing  balm  to  the  soul.  She 
generously  went  on  to  the  recitatives  in 
'The  Messiah,'  and  then  sang  Mozart's 
lovely  *  Deh  vieni  e  non  tardur,'  her  voice, 
just  its  own  unrivalled  beauty  of  tone,  pure 
in  style,  potent  in  appeal  to  the  heart. 

After  that  first  evening  of  musical  bliss 
I  had  many  more,  for  Clara  sang  to  me, 
accompanied  by  her  daughter  Porzia,  who, 
with  her  sister  Valeria,  gave  me  many 
delicious  treats  of  favourite  vocal  and 
pianoforte  duets.  I  never  heard  Clara 
say,  *  Shall  we  go  down  into  the  red 


i;o  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

drawing-room  ? '  but  a  thrill  of  joy  ran 
through  me,  and  were  I  to  enumerate 
all  the  enchanting  things  she  sang  for  me, 
or  that  her  two  daughters  sang  and 
played  for  me,  the  reader  would  envy  me 
the  time  I  spent  so  delightfully  at  Fermo. 
One  afternoon's  music  I  must  recur 
to,  for  the  sake  of  the  picture  it  gave 
me.  One  of  the  Giglincci  cousins,  Conte 
Geppino  Vinci,  brought  his  violin,  and 
accompanied  Clara  in  Spohr's  song '  When 
this  scene  of  trouble  closes/  and  Gugliel- 
mi's  '  Gratias  agimus,'  Porzia  playing  the 
pianoforte  accompaniment.  The  little 
baby  Vinci  having  been  brought  and  laid 
upon  a  cushion  at  her  father's  feet,  she 
looked  up  at  him,  listening  to  the  music 
and  cooing  soft  approval ;  the  entire  group 
thus  affording  a  regale  for  eye  as  well 
as  ear.  Another  very  southern  picture 
was  enjoyed  by  me  there.  One  forenoon 
Clara  called  to  me  to  come  into  the  cor- 
ridor, that  I  might  see  one  of  their  peasant 
girls,  who  had  brought  her  (according 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  171 

to  the  Italian  custom  among  a  proprietor's 
tenantry,  and  which  Shakespeare  has  so 
appropriately  introduced  in  his  '  Merchant 
of  Venice/  where  old  Gobbo  brings  '  a 
dish  of  doves '  as  an  intended  present  to 
his  son's  master,  Shylock)  a  basket  of 
fruit.  There  stood  the  girl,  her  black 
eyes  and  hair  beneath  a  bright  kerchief, 
her  gleaming  white  teeth,  snowy  bodice, 
her  coloured  apron  and  striped  skirt,  and 
the  rich  tint  of  the  apricots  in  her  basket, 
formed  a  glowing  portrait  not  to  be  for- 
gotten by  me.  Several  delightful  drives 
were  taken  for  me  and  with  me,  by  the 
Count  and  Clara,  through  fields  and  vine- 
yards belonging  to  his  tenantry  ;  and  once 
I  was  taken  to  a  magnificent  old  oak 
tree,  beneath  which  I  was  allowed  to  stand 
and  gather  a  spray  of  oak,  similar  to  a 
*  chosen  crest '  I  knew  and  loved.  On  my 
return  home  to  Geneva,  when  I  chanced 
to  be  speaking  to  my  sister  Sabilla  of  my 
liking  for  Northern  air,  and  of  my  weak- 
ened eyes,  she  proposed  that  we  should 


172  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

take  a  journey  together  to  Coblentz,  where 
lived  a  celebrated  oculist,  whom  I  could 
consult.  I  answered  '  Why  not  ? '  and 
thus  summarily  was  this  journey  agreed 
upon ;  so  summarily,  too,  was  it  put  into 
practice,  that  we  set  forth  a  day  or  two 
after,  taking  the  route  by  the  Mont  Cenis 
Pass,  to  Basle,  where,  as  we  sat  at  tea 
and  supper,  I  told  Sabilla  that  I  already 
felt  the  beneficial  influence  of  the  Northern 
air,  its  freshness,  its  invigorating  quality, 
for  I  ate  with  better  appetite  than  I  had 
done  for  months  past.  On  arriving  at 
Coblentz  we  took  up  our  abode  at  pleas- 
ant Pension  Ernen.  It  was  close  to  our 
oculist's  house;  it  was  on  the  road  from 
the  town,  its  garden  abutted  on  the  de- 
lightful Anlagen  by  the  side  of  the  river 
Rhine,  an  Anlagen  specially  patronised  by 
the  Empress  Augusta,  who  contributed 
funds  to  its  proper  and  tasteful  keeping 
up,  and  who  visited  it  often.  It  was 
shaded  by  trees,  it  had  a  Restauration, 
where  people  drank  coffee  and  ate  cakes, 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  173 

and  was  here  and  there  adorned  by 
sculptured  figures  and  groups  of  vases. 
We  frequently  walked  there,  and  many 
times  made  it  our  way  to  entering  the 
town.  Once,  while  sitting  quietly  on  one 
of  the  numerous  seats  placed  in  recesses 
there,  we  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a 
woodpecker  make  its  way  up  the  bole  of 
a  tree,  and  actually  '  tapping '  the  bark 
as  he  proceeded  clingingly  towards  its 
branches. 

Our  hostess,  Fraulein  Ernen  was  admir- 
ably fitted  for  her  vocation,  careful  of 
the  comfort  and  well-being  of  her  boarders, 
—  almost  all  of  them  patients  of  our  oc- 
ulist. At  the  very  Teutonic  early  dinner- 
hour  of  two  o'clock,  we  found  at  the  table 
several  pleasant,  chatty  people,  among 
whom  was  Mr.  Henley,  the  artist,  his  seat 
being  next  mine.  He  courteously  ad- 
dressed me,  and  told  me  many  entertaining 
anecdotes  of  the  persons  who  had  been  his 
sitters  for  their  portraits,  —  royal  person- 
ages and  others.  Among  them  he  men- 


174  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

tioned  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  saying  he 
was  so  sensitive  a  sitter  that  the  most 
timid  young  girl  did  not  surpass  him  in 
shyness.  On  our  visit  to  the  famous  ocu- 
list he  pronounced  that  my  eyes  required 
daily  dropping  into  them  a  certain  remedy, 
therefore  daily  we  visited  him.  We  found 
him  a  lively,  almost  boyish-mannered  man, 
but  kindly  and  skilful.  As  a  specimen 
of  the  former  characteristic,  once,  on  my 
happening  to  say  that  I  had  never  heard 
the  famous  song  '  Die  Wacht  am  Rhein,' 
that  created  such  universal  enthusiasm  at 
the  time  of  the  German  war,  he  (having 
been  in  one  of  its  campaigns)  immediately 
sang  the  song  for  me  at  full  voice,  and 
flourishing  the  camel-hair  pencil  he  was 
using  for  applying  the  remedy  to  my  eyes, 
with  outstretched  arm  on  high.  As  a 
specimen  of  his  kindliness  of  nature,  when 
I  chanced  to  speak  of  the  lovely,  tender 
scene  of  young  Prince  Arthur  pleading  for 
his  eyes  to  be  spared  from  burning  by 
Hubert,  in  Shakespeare's  play  of  '  King 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  175 

John,'  our  oculist  took  down  a  German 
version  of  the  tragedy  and  read  the  scene 
aloud  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  At  another 
time  he  laughingly  recounted  to  us  how 
he  had  bought  a  blind  horse,  cured  it 
himself,  and  found  it  a  useful  steed  during 
the  campaign  and  ever  after. 

During  our  stay  at  Coblentz,  we  re- 
newed our  acquaintance  with  Madame 
Rosa  Mendelssohn,  whom  we  had  known 
at  Nice,  while  she  and  her  husband  had 
been  staying  there  for  a  short  time.  She 
and  her  niece,  Miss  Thormann,  received  us 
most  cordially,  and  the  visit  was  a  mem- 
orable one.  In  the  room  where  we  first 
went  there  was  an  interesting  bas-relief 
medallion-portrait  (size  of  life)  of  the  then 
lately  deceased  Professor  Benjamin  Men- 
delssohn, her  husband.  Each  side  of  the 
medallion  were  pots  of  ivy,  trained  up  to 
surround  the  head  like  a  wreath  or  gar- 
land. The  dining-room  was  delightful, 
bowed  in  shape,  the  front  with  windows 
looking  towards  the  pretty  road  in  which 


1 76  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  house  stood,  the  back  with  a  wide 
door  opening  on  a  staircase  that  led 
divergingly  to  the  garden  at  the  rear  of 
the  house,  and  this  door  was  kept  wide 
open  all  the  time  we  dined,  so  that  it 
seemed  as  though  we  were  dining  in  an 
arbour.  In  the  room  was  a  cuckoo-clock 
that  chimed  its  fluting  notes  while  we  ate 
our  dainty  dinner,  which  included  Rhine 
salmon  and  roast  venison.  After  dinner 
we  took  coffee  in  the  music-room,  and  as 
we  passed  into  it,  we  crossed  through  a 
smaller  one,  where  hung  an  interesting 
water-colour  sketch  by  Felix  himself,  —  a 
view  of  that  very  village  of  Horchheim 
(where  we  then  were  visiting),  as  seen 
from  its  music-room  window.  Miss  Thor- 
mann  —  an  accomplished  amateur  pianist 
—  played  several  of  Felix's  *  Lieder,'  one 
or  two  of  Schumann's  compositions,  and 
a  little-known  Beethoven  Sonata.  Men- 
tion having  been  made  by  Madame  Men- 
delssohn and  Miss  Thormann  of  a  concert 
to  be  given  at  Ems  by  '  a  wonderful  young 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  177 

Spanish  violinist/  —  Pablo  di  Sarasate,  — 
Sabilla  invited  both  ladies  to  go  over 
with  her  to  Ems  and  hear  the  concert, 
but  as  Madame  Mendelssohn  declined 
making  the  exertion,  Miss  Thormann 
only  accepted. 

Of  course  we  took  many  a  delightful 
walk  and  drive  to  the  various  enchanting 
spots  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  within 
easily  accessible  distances,  among  others 
to  a  village  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river  (the  road  to  which  passed  near  to  the 
fortress  of  Ehrenbreitstein)  called  Ahren- 
berg,  where  we  found  a  pretty  little  church, 
its  interior  fitted  up  with  tasteful  cande- 
labra in  the  form  of  lilies  and  leaves  in 
their  natural  colours,  and  some  grotto- 
work.  Another  excursion  was  a  drive  to 
Gtilz  on  the  river  Mosel,  where  we  crossed 
the  ferry  in  our  carriage,  and  returned  by 
the  opposite  side  to  Coblentz.  When  we 
went  to  take  leave  of  Madame  Rosa 
Mendelssohn,  we  saw  Felix's  younger 
daughter  and  her  five  children.  One  of 


12 


i;8  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

them,  a  little  baby,  had  its  fingers  placed 
by  Sabilla  on  the  pianoforte  as  if  playing, 
as  she  said  that  Felix's  grandchild  ought 
early  to  accustom  its  hands  to  that  position. 
We  left  Coblentz  on  the  3oth  September, 
took  similar  route  back,  and  arrived  in 
Genova  on  the  4th  October.  We  had 
much  home-music,  and  I  heard  Patti 
when  she  sang  in  the  *  Barbiere  di  Sivig- 
lia*  here  in  that  year;  and  on  March  nth, 
1878,  Sabilla  and  I  went  for  a  change  to 
Rome.  Of  the  grandeur  there  I  saw  but 
little  in  comparison  with  that  we  were 
compelled  to  leave  unseen,  for  a  gentle- 
man who  was  asked  in  what  time  Rome 
could  be  thoroughly  visited,  said,  —  *  I 
can't  say,  for  I  have  lived  in  Rome  only 
forty  years.'  But  we  enjoyed  many  of  its 
noblest  picture-galleries.  We,  of  course, 
did  not  fail  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  dear 
John  Keats's  tomb,  neighboured  by  that  of 
glorious  Shelley's  heart,  and  we  took  more 
than  one  drive  out  into  the  picturesque 
Campagna. 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  179 

One  of  our  very  first  visits  was  paid  to 
the  American  minister,  George  Perkins 
Marsh,  who  had  been  so  generous  as  to 
have  lent  us  his  rare  copy  of  Florio's 
'Second  Frutes '  while  we  were  editing 
our  *  Annotated  Shakespeare.'  This  cu- 
rious work  of  Florio's,  on  our  careful 
examination  of  it,  caused  us  to  feel  sure 
that  it  (as  well  as  Florio's  Italian  and 
English  Dictionary)  had  been  well  known 
to,  and  much  used  by,  Shakespeare  him- 
self. Mr.  Marsh  was  a  distinguished 
philologist,  besides  being  an  able  states- 
man. He  had  been  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated and  frequently  conversed  with  by 
the  amiable  and  highly-accomplished 
Queen  Margaret,  who  is  one  of  the  most 
gracious  of  sovereigns.  At  Mrs.  Marsh's 
receptions  we  were  more  than  once  grati- 
fied visitors,  and  met  there  several  distin- 
guished persons.  She  had  long  been  an 
affectionate  friend  of  Clara  and  her  two 
daughters,  asking  the  two  latter  to  make 
tea  and  preside  at  her  afternoon  tea-table 


i8o  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

on  many  occasions  of  these  receptions. 
We  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  Miss 
Brewster,  a  descendant  of  the  Brewster 
who  had  been  one  of  the  patriots  that 
sailed  in  the  '  Mayflower,'  when  the  ship 
left  England  and  arrived  at  the  Plymouth 
Rock  in  America.  She  showed  us  a  tea- 
set  that  had  been  fac-similed  from  the  one 
used  aboard  that  renowned  vessel.  While 
we  were  in  Rome  we  enjoyed  some  special 
music.  A  concert  given  by  Signor  Sgam- 
bati,  the  most  exquisite  of  Italian  pianists. 
Another  concert  given  for  a  charitable 
purpose,  wherein  a  lady  (born  a  Russian 
princess,  but  married  to  a  German  pro- 
fessor) played  on  the  pianoforte  in  mas- 
terly style,  and  on  which  occasion,  Madame 
Ristori  recited  (I  may  say,  acted)  the 
sleeping-scene  of  Lady  Macbeth,  sup- 
ported by  a  lady  and  gentleman  who  rep- 
resented the  waiting-gentlewoman  and 
the  doctor.  To  show  how  careful  really 
great  artistes  are,  I  may  mention  that 
Ristori  asked  my  sister  Clara  to  hear  her 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  181 

recite  and  rehearse  this  scene  before  she 
performed  it  at  the  concert. 

An  early  and  memorable  visit  Sabilla 
and  I  paid  to  Joseph  Severn,  the  generous- 
hearted  artist  who  gave  up  his  then 
engagements  to  accompany  his  friend, 
John  Keats,  to  Italy,  when  the  young  poet 
was  in  a  decline  that  ended  in  his  death. 
We  found  Severn  himself  on  a  sick-bed, 
arranged  in  his  studio,  and  opposite  to 
him,  the  portrait  he  was  painting  from 
memory,  when  taken  ill,  of  Keats,  still  so 
dear  to  him.  He  spoke  to  us  cheerily, 
and  with  interest,  of  all  that  most  engaged 
the  thoughts  of  us  three. 

On  our  return  home  to  Geneva  from 
Rome,  we  resumed  our  usual  life  of  home 
music  and  home  occupations;  but  in  June, 
having  received  an  invitation,  from  our 
kind  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Littleton,  to 
visit  them,  we  left  for  England.  During 
my  stay  there  I  superintended  the  bring- 
ing out  of  our  '  Recollections  of  Writers/ 
then  in  course  of  printing  in  book-form. 


1 82  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

We  visited  our  favourite  English  picture 
collections,  —  the  choice  one  at  the  Dul- 
wich  Gallery;  the  ever-beautiful  National 
Gallery,  where  we  found  some  fine  addi- 
tions, such  as  the  Turner  collection,  etc., 
and  at  the  Aquarium  we  saw  gathered 
together  some  of  George  Cruikshank's 
admirable  illustrations;  though  I  own  I 
regretted  not  seeing  among  them  those 
he  made  for  my  '  Kit  Barn's  Adventures.' 
We  paid  a  visit  to  Lady  Shelley,  who  was 
then  at  her  town-house  on  the  Chelsea 
Embankment.  She  invited  us  to  go  and 
see  her  at  Boscombe,  where  she  and  Sir 
Percy  had  collected  most  interesting  relics 
of  his  illustrious  father  ;  but,  unfortunately, 
we  were  unable  to  accept  the  invitation. 
On  our  way  back  from  England  we  visited 
the  Paris  Exhibition  of  that  year,  and 
spent  a  fortnight  at  Aix-les-Bains,  where 
we  heard  a  fine  instrumental  concert  given 
by  the  orchestra  from  the  Regio  Teatro 
at  Turin,  and  were  taken  by  a  friend  into 
the  Gambling  Room,  in  which  we  saw  two 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  183 

fanatic  players  seated  at  the  gambling- 
table,  to  secure  places,  an  hour  beforehand, 
and  on  our  returning  after  the  concert,  we 
saw  these  wretched  gentlemen,  with  ex- 
cited eyes  and  burning  red  cheeks,  deep 
in  play. 

In  July,  1879,  Sabilla  and  I  resolved  to 
go  and  enjoy  the  Mozart  Musical  Festival 
at  Salzburg,  inviting  our  niece  Porzia  to 
accompany  us,  and  a  great  enjoyment  it 
proved,  —  our  visit  thither  being  exactly 
fifty  years  after  my  father's,  to  take  the 
subscribed  sum  to  Madame  Sonnenberg, 
the  great  composer's  sister.  We  were  re- 
ceived with  marked  kindliness  by  the 
authorities  there,  and  shown  particular 
attention. 

As  a  fitting  commencement  to  the  festi- 
val, I  went  a  pilgrimage  to  the  house  where 
Mozart  was  born,  the  font  whereat  he  was 
baptised,  and  the  dwelling  where  he  lived, 
loved,  and  wrote.  A  gay  look  of  jubilee 
and  bright  expectancy  pervaded  the  streets, 
where  long  pennons  and  flags  of  all  colours 


1 84  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

hung  floating  from  upper  windows  and 
reached  to  ground  floors ;  while  troops  of 
visitors  from  all  parts  flocked  through  the 
thoroughfares  in  holiday  travelling  trim. 
On  the  evening  of  I7th  July,  when  the 
first  of  the  three  days'  concerts  took  place, 
a  large  company  was  assembled  in  the 
'Aula  Academica,'  where  the  executants 
were  already  stationed  in  their  places  on 
the  platform,  and  '  ready-tuned/  The 
very  first  chord  of  Mozart's  finest  over- 
ture served  well  to  announce  the  suprem- 
acy of  the  famed  Vienna  Orchestra.  Herr 
Hans  Richter  presided  as  conductor ;  and 
a  more  excellent  one  it  has  never  been 
my  good  fortune  to  hear — though  I  have 
heard  Michael  Costa,  Chelard,  and  Felix 
Mendelssohn  themselves.  Beethoven's 
Seventh  Symphony,  with  its  sublimely 
poetical  slow  movement  and  exquisitely 
playful  Scherzo,  closed  the  evening's  musi- 
cal feast.  The  day's  enjoyment  harmon- 
ised well  with  the  evening's  entertainment ; 
for  a  town  of  choicer  loveliness  in  situation 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  185 

and  scenery  is  rarely  to  be  seen.  Placed 
on  the  banks  of  a  rapid  stream,  the  River 
Salbach,  surrounded  by  green  heights  and 
distant  mountains,  well-wooded  slopes  on 
which  picturesque  castles  and  lordly  man- 
sions are  perched,  shores  along  which 
brightly  and  variously-coloured  houses 
range  in  the  neatness  and  grace  of  adorn- 
ment that  characterises  German  dwellings, 
—  this  spot  forms  an  endless  succession  of 
pictures  and  charming  landscapes,  besides 
affording  scope  for  enchanting  drives  amid 
lanes  and  woodlands.  As  a  final  touch,  — 
which  would  have  rejoiced  the  heart  of 
Walter  Scott  himself,  who  knew,  none 
better,  that  good  fare  crowns  befittingly 
the  enjoyment  of  Nature's  romantic  scenery 
and  refined  art  pleasure,  —  the  eating  in 
Salzburg  was  of  the  best ;  trout  that  would 
have  had  Isaac  Walton's  cordial  com- 
mendation, chickens  delicate  and  '  tender 
as  morning  dew/  with  Alpine  butter  and 
fresh  cream,  made  each  day's  repast  a 
feast  worthy  of  the  '  Musikfest '  at  night. 


1 86  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

On  the  morning  of  i8th  July  there  was  an 
open-air  entertainment  on  the  Kapuziner- 
berg,  consisting  of  a  four-part  song  for 
men's  voices,  an  address  delivered  by  Herr 
Banmeister,  a  celebrated  actor  who  had  a 
grand  speaking  voice,  with  fervour  of  deliv- 
ery and  excellent  enunciation.  The  touch- 
ing words  he  poured  forth,  in  powerful 
tones,  were  so  sonorous  that  they  reached 
the  opposite  hills,  which  echoed  back  the 
praises  of  our  divine  Mozart  with  thrilling 
effect. 

On  reaching  the  point  of  the  Capucin 
Hill,  where  a  small  summer-house  stands, 
I  found  an  eager  crowd  assembled,  some 
in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sunshine,  under 
parasols  and  umbrellas,  some  seeking 
scraps  of  shade  skirting  the  enclosure, 
some  clustering  beneath  the  adjoining 
trees,  and  a  fortunate  few  on  a  rickety 
wooden  bench  under  the  eaves  of  a  wood- 
cutter's cottage  near  the  spot.  Some  of 
the  Festival  Committee  gentlemen  came 
to  my  sister  Sabilla  and  myself,  asking  us 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  187 

to  enter  the  summer-house,  which  had  the 
peculiar  interest  of  being  the  actual  spot 
where  Mozart  composed  his  opera  of '  Die 
Zauberflote.'  It  is  fitted  up  with  exact 
models  of  the  table  at  which  he  wrote,  and 
of  the  chair  in  which  he  sat  when  occu- 
pying this  summer-house.  Its  walls  are 
hung  round  with  pictures,  photographs, 
and  innumerable  tributary  wreaths ;  on 
the  table  lay  an  open  Mozart  album,  in 
which  we  were  requested  to  inscribe  our 
names,  as  the  daughters  of  Vincent 
Novello,  who,  exactly  half  a  century  before, 
this  very  month,  in  the  July  of  1829,  came 
to  Salzburg  to  convey  to  Mozart's  sister 
(then  in  failing  health  and  means)  a  sum 
of  money  subscribed  by  the  musical  pro- 
fessors of  London  as  a  testimony  of  their 
admiration  for  the  great  composer's  genius, 
and  of  their  sympathy  with  his  sister  in  her 
declining  age.  Strangely  moving  was  it 
to  stand  beneath  the  little  summer-house 
roof,  looking  forth  upon  the  very  moun- 
tains and  woods  and  river  and  picturesque 


188  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

town  that  Mozart  beheld  when  he  raised 
his  eyes  from  his  MS.;  strange  to  sit  in 
the  chair  he  occupied,  listening  to  the 
strains  he  composed ;  strange  to  be  in  the 
very  place  where,  fifty  years  before,  my 
own  father  had  come  to  visit  the  birth- 
place of  his  favourite  composer,  and  the 
spot  which  had  witnessed  the  birth  of 
some  of  that  composer's  finest  composi- 
tions. With  reverential  humility  we  com- 
plied with  the  committee's  request,  and 
placed  in  the  Mozart  album  our  photo- 
graphs and  the  following  inscriptions :  — 

*  I  pray  you  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes  (and  ears) 
With  the  memorials  and  things  of  fame 
That  do  renown  this  city.' 

SHAKESPEARE'S  'Twelfth  Night/  Act  III.  Scene  3. 
Mary     Victoria    Cow  den-Clarke    (born 
Novello).  —  Salzburg,  July,  1879. 

IMPROMPTU  ACROSTIC. 

S  alzburg,  for  ever  will  thy  name  recall 
A  pleasant  mem'ry  to  my  mind  ;  when  all 
B  ut  as  a  dream  of  beauty  shall  appear 
I  Hummed  by  art's  glow,  remote  but  clear ; 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  189 

L  ov'd  Mozart  seems  to  tread  thy  busy  streets, 
L  ost  though  he  be  to  mortal  ken,  he  meets 
A  t  ev'ry  moment  my  admiring  eyes. 

N  ot  like  the  empty  visions  that  arise 

O  ut  of  the  misty  past.     No,  Mozart  lives 

V  ividly  present,  while  his  music  gives 

E  ternal  rapture,  ever  freshly  born, 

L  ovely  as  Spring,  as  radiant  as  the  morn. 

L  ong  as  art  love  shall  exist,  Mozart's  name 

O  'er  all  shall  triumph  in  the  rolls  of  fame. 

Salzburg,  July  i8th,  1879. 

Schumann's  two  glorious  compositions, 
the  '  Andante  and  Variationem,'  and 
Quintette  completed  the  intense  satisfac- 
tion afforded  to  us  by  this  truly  delightful 
*  Salzburger  Musikfest.' 

From  Salzburg  we  went  to  Vienna, 
where  our  first  delight  was  hearing  an 
evening  service  in  the  glorious  cathedral. 
The  lovely  Gothic  interior,  the  blaze  of 
silver  (with  gold  rays  from  the  centre)  of 
the  rich  altar-piece,  the  kneeling  priests 
in  white  and  gold  vestments,  the  warm 
colouring  of  the  stained-glass  windows, 
with  the  general  low  light  of  the  arched 
stone  walls  just  revealing  the  many 


MY   LONG  LIFE. 

antique  monuments  that  abound  there,  all 
thoroughly  enchanted  me.  An  early  visit 
we  of  course  paid  to  the  Belvedere  Gallery, 
containing  whole  rooms  full  of  Rubens, 
that  make  one  wonder  how  a  man's  life 
could  suffice  to  cover  so  much  canvas  with 
so  much  magnificent  painting,  and  with 
such  noble  poetry  of  his  imagination, 
besides  being  an  ambassador.  A  room 
full  of  Velasquez,  with  portraits  of  children 
deliciously  true  to  aristocratic  nature,  a  pic- 
ture of  Murillo's  —  a  boy  St.  John  with  a 
lamb  —  exquisite.  A  lovely  little  low  long 
picture  by  Domenico  Feti  (a  painter  I 
had  never  heard  of  before),  the  Death  of 
Leander,  and  the  Despair  of  Hero,  charm- 
ingly poetical  in  idea  and  treatment;  in 
short,  room  after  room  of  beauties  and 
riches  innumerable.  Another  small  gallery, 
consisting  but  of  three  rooms,  at  the 
Schonbrunn  Palace  kept  us  lingering  by  a 
canaletto  —  quite  astounding  for  truth  to 
nature,  and  open-air  effect,  with  perfect 
perspective,  —  of  a  house  and  grass-plot 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  191 

toward  the  right-hand  front  of  the  picture, 
and  another  house  rather  backwards.  In 
the  Lichtenstein  Gallery,  besides  the  numer- 
ous treasures  of  Vandyke,  Rembrandt,  and 
Rubens  that  it  contains,  we  came  upon  a 
bewitching  picture  by  the  last-named 
artist,  a  Perseus  and  Andromeda,  with 
little  loves  flying  about,  two  trying  to 
mount  Pegasus,  two  helping  to  unfasten 
the  chains  of  Andromeda,  etc.,  etc.,  all  of 
them  exquisite. 

When  we  left  Vienna  we  went  up  to 
Dresden,  which  I  at  once  named,  and  ever 
after  spoke  of,  as  c  Delightful  Dresden.' 
The  store  of  riches,  crown  jewels,  precious 
crystals,  etc.,  in  the  '  Green  Vault '  there, 
was  not  half  so  attractive  to  us  as  the 
picture-gallery,  where  we  were  almost  daily 
haunters  of  its  rooms. 

Many  a  drive  we  took  in  the  charming 
*  Grosse  Garten '  and  into  the  country  be- 
yond, visiting  several  of  the  picturesque 
environs  that  abound  in  the  vicinity.  We 
frequently  made  our  way  to  the  public 


192  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

square  in  front  of  the  palace  to  hear  a  fine 
military  band  playing  in  one  of  its  angles ; 
and  on  the  first  occasion  of  our  doing 
this,  were  so  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the 
performance,  its  admirably  breathed  out 
pianos,  its  perfect  crescendos,  and  precision 
of  togetherhood,  that  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  applaud ;  and,  catching  the 
bandmaster's  eye,  I  clapped  my  hands 
obviously.  He,  with  brisk  military 
promptitude,  raised  his  hand  to  his  helmet, 
saluted  and  smiled,  with  a  little  sudden 
bow,  as  our  carriage  passed  on  rapidly. 
One  evening,  soon  after  our  arrival,  we 
went  to  the  Sommertheater  in  the  Grosse 
Garten,  where  was  performed  a  piece  en- 
titled '  Die  Kinder  des  Capitan  Grant/ 
which  entertained  me  beyond  words,  as  a 
perfect  reminder  of  my  old  Coburg  and 
Surrey  theatre  times.  A  captain  and  his 
boy  son  left  to  perish  on  a  desert  island 
by  a  treacherous  mate  and  crew,  a  bottle 
(containing  news  of  their  condition)  mi- 
raculously reaching  their  friends  in  a  castle 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  193 

in  Glasgow.  The  said  friends,  with  their 
comic  servant  and  the  two  other  children 
of  Captain  Grant  (a  boy  and  a  girl)  setting 
off  in  a  yacht  to  save  their  esteemed  Cap- 
tain Grant.  Their  various  adventures  on 
reaching  South  America  ;  Mexican  guides, 
false  and  faithless,  leading  them  where  a 
volcano  bursts,  and  its  lava  interrupts  their 
path  ;  a  mysterious  Patagonian  chief  (who 
expresses  himself  in  fluent  Hock  Deutsch\ 
friendly  and  protective,  and  who  dies  from 
having  heroically  sucked  the  poison  from 
a  snake-bite  in  the  girl  child's  leg ;  attacks 
of  wild  Indians,  shouts,  pistol-shots  innu- 
merable (in  fact,  from  what  I  could  make 
out,  pistol-shots  were  invariably  introduced 
when  extra  excitement  and  interest  and 
row  were  needed) ;  more  wanderings ;  a 
dance  of  ballet-girls  and  men  with  lanterns 
in  a  Mexican  temple  festivity;  a  sudden 
remorse  and  reform  of  the  '  treacherous 
mate,'  who  turns  up  at  the  most  unexpected 
moment,  and  offers  to  conduct  the  search 
party  to  the  exact  spot  where  he  aban- 
13 


194  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

doned  Captain  Grant  and  his  son ;  a 
change  of  scene  to  a  desolate  part  of  the 
desert  island,  with  Captain  Grant  and  his 
son  at  the  last  extremity  of  starvation  and 
cold,  an  iceberg  having  closed  them  in 
from  the  open  sea  and  their  last  hope  of 
rescue;  an  affecting  scene  (really  prettily 
done) of  the  father  half  resolving  to  shorten 
the  sufferings  of  his  exhausted  and  sleeping 
son  by  stabbing  him  with  the  knife  he 
still  has ;  his  last  appeal  to  Heaven  with 
the  boy  kneeling  beside  him,  —  when  the 
mid-scene  of  iceberg  draws  away,  and  the 
yacht  is  seen  approaching  in  full  sail. 
*  God  save  the  Queen '  is  played,  the  party 
of  friends  rush  on,  and  the  curtain  falls 
amid  general  meeting  and  happiness. 

The  very  next  day  a  quite  different 
series  of  theatrical  entertainments  com- 
menced for  us.  The  opening  of  the  Hof- 
theater  for  that  season  was  announced  to 
take  place  in  the  evening,  the  performance 
being  '  Die  Wiederspenstige.'  I  heard 
this  title  with  indifference,  but  what  was 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  195 

my  awakened  interest,  when,  asking  Sabilla 
to  explain,  she  told  me  this  piece  was  the 
German  version  of  Shakespeare's  *  Taming 
of  the  Shrew.'  We  then  of  course  immedi- 
ately took  stalls,  and  went  to  what  proved 
the  beginning  of  an  Elysium  of  play-going ; 
not  only  then,  but  in  several  subsequent 
visits  to  '  Delightful  Dresden.'  The  Hof- 
theater  itself  is  lofty,  spacious,  cool,  airy  ; 
the  performances  commence  punctually 
at  seven,  allowing  return  home  seldom 
later  than  ten  o'clock.  The  scenery 
superb  ;  the  artists  —  dramatic  and  vocal 
—  excellent;  the  pieces  chosen  are  artis- 
tically instructive,  as  well  as  artistically  in- 
teresting, being  alternately  dramatic  and 
operatic ;  the  former  selected  from  the 
best  dramatists,  the  latter  selected  from 
composers  of  classic  celebrity,  besides  those 
of  more  modern  dates ;  so  that  the  audience 
becomes  more  cultivated  in  dramatic 
authorship  and  in  musical  composition  of 
various  styles.  On  that  first  evening  we 
beheld  two  admirable  performers,  Dettmer 


196  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

as  Petruchio,  Ellmeureich  as  Katharina. 
His  acting  was  entirely  to  my  taste ; 
giving  the  assumed  harshness  of  dictator- 
ship with  (in  soliloquy)  the  real  liking  that 
Petruchio  has  for  his  chosen  wife.  His 
speaking  voice  equalled  that  of  Salvini 
for  beauty  and  richness  of  tone.  Ellmeu- 
reich was  charming,  and  proved  to  be 
equally  so  in  characters  she  subsequently 
played, —  of  high  tragic,  or  genteel  comedy 
impersonation.  We  became  such  inveter- 
ate playgoers  that,  during  the  more  than 
two  months  of  our  stay  in  Dresden,  we 
scarcely  missed  a  single  evening  of  per- 
formance. But  besides  our  theatre  music, 
we  enjoyed  many  a  magnificent  mass  of 
Mozart  and  other  composers  at  the  Hof- 
kirche ;  and  several  admirably  sung 
motetts,  etc.,  by  well-trained  boy  singers 
at  the  Lutheran  Vesper  Service  in  the 
Kreuzkirche.  The  precision  and  perfectly 
in  tune  singing  of  those  boys  in  unaccom- 
panied pieces  by  Bach,  Mendelssohn,  and 
other  composers,  was  a  delight  to  hear. 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  197 

One  evening  we  went  to  hear  a  concert 
of  Hungarians  (announced  in  the  pro- 
gramme as  '  Zigeuner-Kapelle  Farkas 
More  aus  Budapest*),  which  was  an 
extraordinarily  interesting  thing  to  hear. 
National,  peculiar,  very  wild,  three  of  the 
pieces  were  called  '  Czardas,'  and  were 
especially  curious.  Rapid  and  eccentric 
in  the  extreme ;  and  in  two  of  them  a 
young  violinist  of  the  party  executed  what 
seemed  to  be  an  impetuous  improvised  re- 
citative movement,  accompanied  by  merely 
two  violins,  a  viola  (extraordinarily  large 
in  size)  and  violoncello ;  while  at  its  close, 
the  whole  orchestra  (including  double  bass, 
clarinet,  oboe,  and  a  very  large  zithern, 
admirably  played)  joined  in  like  a  choral 
conclusion. 

On  leaving  Dresden  we  made  Eger 
our  first  halting-place,  in  order  to  make 
a  pilgrimage  to  the  house  where  Wallen- 
stein  was  murdered  ;  because  we  had  seen 
Schiller's  *  Wallenstein  '  magnificently  got 
up  at  the  Dresden  Hoftheater.  We 


198  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

found  the  spot  (the  Rathhaus)  where  the 
murder  took  place,  grim  and  quaint 
enough  to  be  quite  in  keeping  with 
its  tradition;  an  old  half-Gothic  portal 
giving  entrance  to  a  dingy  old  court- 
yard, round  which  were  stuck  various 
carved  stones  and  rude  images  of  old 
German  warriors  and  monumental  re- 
cords of  their  doings ;  a  balustraded 
gallery  of  dark  wood  running  round  the 
courtyard  interior  of  the  first  floor,  —  like 
our  old  English  inn  yards.  On  the 
left  side,  beneath  the  huge  portal,  was 
an  entrance  door  standing  open,  where 
at  once  ascends  the  antique  stair-case 
so  well  represented  in  the  scene  of  '  Wal- 
lenstein's  Tod'  at  the  Hoftheater.  The 
artistic  scene-painter  there  must  have 
gone  himself  to  Eger  and  taken  a  sketch 
of  the  actual  spot,  and  then  enlarged  it 
for  stage  representation, —  the  effect  was 
so  true,  and  yet  so  picturesquely  im- 
proved. 

We  made  a  short  stay  at  Munich  that 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  199 

we  might  renew  the  acquaintance  Sa- 
billa  and  I  had  made  with  the  Art  Gal- 
leries of  the  Pinacothek  and  Glyptothek 
on  our  return  journey  from  England  in 
1862.  The  International  Exhibition  at 
Munich  was  open  at  the  time  of  our  se- 
cond visit,  but  although  it  consisted  en- 
tirely of  paintings  and  sculpture,  I  did  not 
find  a  single  specimen  that  I  should  have 
cared  to  possess.  Sabilla  and  Porzia  were 
able  to  procure  tickets  for  a  performance  at 
the  Opera  House  of  Wagner's  '  Gotterdam- 
merung;'  but  I  preferred  staying  quietly 
indoors,  looking  out  upon  the  open  square, 
beyond  which  I  could  see  the  tower  of 
the  quaint  old  Frauenkirche,  lighted  by 
the  setting  sun  and  gradually  by  the  cres- 
cent moon  and  single  planet  star,  while 
I  thought  of  the  many  blessings  I  had 
in  my  long  life  to  compensate  for  its 
sorrows. 

We  returned  to  Genova  by  the  Bren- 
ner Pass;  where,  instead  of  the  snow 
and  ice  which  we  were  told  we  should 


200  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

encounter,  we  found  sunshine,  blue  sky, 
and  charming  transit  through  lovely 
green  Tyrol. 

In  1880  our  villa  was  honoured  by  a 
visit  from  the  Kronprinzessin  of  Ger- 
many, then  staying  at  Pegli.  Her  Royal 
Highness  was  graciously  interested  by 
a  portrait  of  our  sister  Clara,  painted  by 
Magnus  of  Berlin,  who  had  given  les- 
sons in  painting  to  Her  Royal  Highness, 
—  herself  a  proficient  in  that  art. 

Having  been  so  gratified  by  our  Ger- 
man tour  of  1879,  we  resolved  to  go  thither 
the  very  next  year ;  so,  after  paying  a 
delightful  visit  to  friends  at  Stressa,  on 
the  Lago  Maggiore,  we  went  up  to  Nu- 
remberg, where  we  saw  Albert  Durer's 
studio,  preserved  just  in  the  state  it  was 
when  he  worked  there  ;  and  an  exhibition 
of  Kranach's  antique  paintings,  where  the 
custodian  was  an  old  woman  with  a  head 
precisely  like  one  of  Kranach's  epoch,  so 
queer  and  antiquated  was  it. 

At   Bamberg  we  visited  an   admirable 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  201 

lady  pianist,  a  friend  of  ours  years  be- 
fore in  England,  who  played  to  us  again 
with  quite  her  former  excellence.  She 
was  peculiarly  great  in  Beethoven's  Sona- 
tas, all  of  which  she  knew  by  heart.  We 
made  some  stay  at  Cassel ;  making  our 
first  visit  to  the  picture-gallery  there, 
which  is  rich  in  Rembrandts.  Our  drives 
were  frequent  and  delightful.  One,  from 
Wilhelmsthal  to  Wilhelmshohe  through 
magnificent  woods,  remains  vividly  in 
my  memory ;  for,  on  approaching  the 
former-named  palace,  as  we  drove  up 
the  avenue  leading  thereto,  we  saw  a 
large  party  of  gentlemen  picnicking  under 
the  trees  who,  when  they  saw  us 
approaching,  made  animated  signs  to  the 
coachman  to  halt.  Then  one  of  the 
gentlemen  flew  to  the  side  of  the  carriage, 
bearing  in  his  hand  a  superb-sized  foam- 
ing tankard,  which  he  presented  to  us 
ladies,  and  from  which  each  of  us  ladies 
in  turn  drank  from,  I  exclaiming,  Lebe 
hoch  Deutschland !  The  gentleman  smiled 


202  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

and  looked  delighted  (indeed,  he  and  his 
whole  party  seemed  in  exuberant  spirits, 
but  went  through  the  ceremony  in  the 
highest  good  taste  and  politeness),  and 
then  he  handed  the  tankard  up  to  the 
coachman,  who  quaffed  it  off  with  abun- 
dant relish.  As  we  drove  away,  the  band 
which  was  with  the  party  sounded  a 
flourish  of  trumpets  in  honour  of  us. 
Altogether  we  thought  it  a  pretty,  charac- 
teristic, and  most  German  incident. 

One  morning  early,  while  we  were  at 
Cassel,  what  should  greet  our  delighted 
ears  before  we  were  up,  but  a  charming 
serenade  given  by  the  military  band  to 
their  general,  who  lived  next  door  to  us ! 
First  a  magnificent  chorale  —  simple  in 
its  strain,  but  full  of  the  most  enchant- 
ing chords  —  breathed  out  entrancingly 
with  the  most  exquisite  precision  of  tune, 
the  most  perfect  togetherhood  in  be- 
ginning and  ending  phrases;  the  most 
true  and  intense  feeling  for  due  expression 
in  sentiment ;  next  was  played  a  brisk 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  203 

Hungarian  dance,  then  a  quick  march ; 
and  lastly  a  very  brilliant  piece,  the  sub- 
ject with  which  it  commenced  being 
taken  from  the  padlock  song  in  Mozart's 
*  Zauberflote.'  From  Cassel  we  went  up 
to  Berlin.  My  experience  of  the  Prussian 
capital  was  not  very  favourable ;  for 
constant  rain  prevailed  during  most  of 
our  time  there,  preventing  our  enjoying 
as  much  as  we  could  have  desired  to  visit. 
But  the  picture  gallery,  the  museum,  and 
Ranch's  studio,  afforded  us  much  art  plea- 
sure ;  while  a  drive  to  the  park  and  mauso- 
leum of  Charlottenburg  was  extremely 
interesting  to  us.  But  we  were  so  for- 
tunate as  to  see  Otto  Devrient  play 
Mephistopheles,  in  his  own  adaptation 
for  the  stage  of  Goethe's  'Second  Part 
of  Faust.'  His  acting  was  perfection, 
and  marvellous  in  appropriate  diabolism. 
One  touch  particularly  struck  us.  In 
the  scene  where  there  is  a  royal  recep- 
tion, Devrient's  face  suddenly  changed  to 
a  look  of  shuddering  disgust ;  and  we  then 


204  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

perceived  that  it  was  when  a  train  of 
ecclesiastics  and  robed  bishops  entered 
the  presence.  Otto  Devrient  was  one  of 
that  famous  family  of  Devrients  who  for 
years  had  been  first-rate  actors  and 
actresses.  I  had  seen  Madame  Schroeder- 
Devrient  during  the  first  performance 
of  the  German  company  in  London  ;  had 
seen  Emile  Devrient  play  Faust  at  the 
St  James's  Theatre  there ;  and  I  had  seen 
a  younger  Devrient  play  Sebastian  in 
Shakespeare's  '  Twelfth  Night '  in  Dres- 
den. Yearnings  of  remembrance  of  this 
last  named  city  seized  us,  and  we  left 
Berlin  for  '  Delightful  Dresden.'  On  ar- 
rival we  found  finer  weather  to  add  to  our 
exhilaration  at  finding  ourselves  again  in 
our  favourite  Saxon  capital.  The  season 
at  the  Hoftheater  had  just  commenced,  and 
we  at  once  plunged  into  the  old  enjoy- 
ment of  theatre-going  every  evening ; 
punctual  attendance  at  the  Hofkirche  for 
High  Mass,  and  at  the  Kreuzkirche  ves- 
per service,  where  the  boy  choir  was  so 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  205 

excellent,  etc.,  etc.  A  few  changes  had 
taken  place  there  since  our  previous  visit. 
Ellmeureich  was  married,  but  still  re- 
mained on  the  stage.  A  delicious  bari- 
tone, Degele,  was  singing  in  various  parts 
with  excellent  effect;  while  the  acting  of 
Dettmer  as  Macduff  in  Shakespeare's 
*  Macbeth,'  deserves  special  record.  I  can 
never  forget  him  in  the  grand  scene  of  the 
fourth  act,  when  news  is  brought  to  him  of 
his  wife  and  children  being  put  to  death 
by  the  tyrant.  It  was  the  truest  and  most 
affecting  expression  of  manly  anguish  I 
ever  beheld.  His  fine  flexible  voice,  with 
its  power  of  breaking  when  expressing 
strong  emotion,  aided  him  to  perfection, 
and  his  gestures  were  profoundly  indica- 
tive of  mental  torture,  without  a  tinge 
of  exaggeration.  Dettmer  had  the  curi- 
ous gift  of  being  able  to  turn  pale  (a  gift 
I  have  heard  was  possessed  by  the  French 
actor  Talma),  and  at  the  passage  where 
Malcolm  says :  '  Ne'er  pull  your  hat 
upon  your  brows ;  give  sorrow  words,' 


206  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

—  when  the  hat  was  removed  Dettmer's 
face  was  deathly  white. 

To  give  an  idea  of  Ellmeureich's  varied 
power  in  acting,  I  may  mention  that  her 
Viola  in  Shakespeare's  'Twelfth  Night' 
was  bewitchingly  playful ;  while  her  imper- 
sonation of  Goethe's  Gretchen  in  the  first 
part  of  '  Faust '  was  profoundly  moving. 
Pure,  innocent,  winningly  childlike,  happy 
at  first;  broken,  despairing,  lost  at  last. 
Her  madness,  while  Faust  weeps  with  re- 
morse at  her  feet,  was  perfectly  haunting, 
and  really  affected  Sabilla  and  me  for  a 
long  time  after. 

A  very  interesting  day  was  spent  by  us, 
when  we  went  to  visit  the  *  Saxon  Switzer- 
land/ We  were  favoured  by  fine  weather; 
we  drove  by  the  left  banks  of  the  River 
Elbe,  crossed  the  ferry  at  Pilnitz,  pro- 
ceeded by  a  gentle  rise  all  the  way  through 
picturesque  villages  and  amid  fine  views. 
We  passed  the  day  on  the  fine  cliff  called 
the  '  Bastei,'  wandering  about  among  its 
rocky  summits,  conveniently  made  acces- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  207 

sible  by  connecting  bridges  and  well-kept 
paths.  Another  excursion  was  to  Meis- 
sen, where  we  ascended  the  crag  on 
which  are  perched  the  antique  cathedral 
and  castle.  A  particularly  interesting 
ceremony  we  witnessed  (from  a  window), 
which  took  place  on  the  Altmarkt  Platz. 
The  edges  of  the  large  platz  were  lit- 
erally crammed  with  people  ;  windows  and 
roofs,  even,  were  full  of  excited  gazers ; 
while  the  central  space  was  marked  off  by 
gigantic  festoons  of  green  wreaths  sur- 
mounted by  close,  bead-like  rows  of  white 
lamps  (green  and  white  being  the  colours 
of  Saxony),  beneath  which  rose  a  wooden 
amphitheatre  of  seats  erected  for  the 
reception  of  the  relations  of  those  who 
had  fallen  at  Sedan  (the  day  being  the 
anniversary  of  the  victory  obtained  there). 
Within  this  amphitheatre  was  an  open 
space,  where  gradually  assembled  various 
processions,  civic  and  military,  with  their 
several  bands  of  music  and  some  hundreds 
of  young  ladies  wearing  white,  and  sashes 


208  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

of  the  national  colours  with  garlands  of  oak 
leaves  on  their  heads.  The  sight  of  these 
falling  in,  two  by  two,  and  forming  a  long 
line  round  the  statue  in  the  centre,  and 
extending  towards  the  throned  and  crim- 
son-laid stand  prepared  for  the  King  and 
Queen  pf  Saxony  and  their  Court,  was 
extremely  beautiful ;  the  more  so,  as  most 
of  these  fair  girlish  heads  had  magnificent 
tresses  of  hair  falling  from  their  green 
wreaths  on  to  their  shoulders  and  down 
their  backs. 

Precisely  as  the  clock  struck  eleven,  the 
royal  carriages  drove  up,  and  as  the  Court 
party  alighted  and  took  their  places  be- 
neath the  canopy,  the  whole  assembly 
cheered,  waved  hats  and  handkerchiefs, 
while  the  bands  struck  up  '  God  save  the 
Queen '  (the  German  national  air  being 
the  same  as  ours).  Then  the  chorus  of 
young  ladies  and  of  students  (also  wearing 
chaplets  on  their  heads)  sang  Handel's 
grand  *  Hallelujah  Chorus '  with  fine  ef- 
fect ;  a  speech  was  delivered  to  the  King 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  209 

by  a  Dresden  magnate ;  Wagner's  stately 
and  effective  '  Kaiser  Marsch  '  was  played 
by  the  united  bands ;  and  at  a  signal,  the 
tall  draperies  around  the  central  statue 
were  rapidly  lowered,  and  the  '  Germania ' 
was  displayed  to  view  amid  universal 
cheering  and  waving  of  hats  and  handker- 
chiefs. Lastly,  the  King  and  Queen  and 
Court  party  stepped  down  from  their  dai's, 
and  walked  round  the  central  space  amid 
more  cheering  and  waving,  and  closely 
examined  the  statue  and  the  green  wreaths 
which  the  young  ladies  had  placed  upon 
the  steps  at  its  base.  After  this,  the 
royalties  stepped  into  their  carriage-and- 
four,  driving  off  amid  acclamations. 

We  had  made  acquaintance  with  three 
amiable  American  ladies,  —  a  mother  and 
two  daughters ;  the  mother  almost  as 
fresh-complexioned  and  young-looking  as 
her  daughters.  One  of  the  daughters  was 
taking  lessons  in  pianoforte  playing,  the 
other  in  singing.  These  two  young  ladies 
flew  into  our  room  one  afternoon  with  a 
14 


210  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

couple  of  white  rosebuds  in  their  hand, 
which  they  presented  to  Sabilla  and  me 
in  token  of  the  pleasure  they  had  just 
had  in  reading  my  two  verse  stones, 
1  The  Trust '  and  '  The  Remittance.'  The 
young  lady  who  was  then  studying  singing 
was  no  other  than  Miss  Agnes  Hunting- 
ton,  who  subsequently  made  so  success- 
ful an  operatic  career  in  London  and  in 
America. 

We  witnessed  in  the  Grosse  Garten  an 
interesting  celebration  of  the  '  Albertverein 
Fest.'  In  the  large  space  near  the  lake,  a 
kind  of  tent-temple  had  been  erected  for 
the  royalties ;  and  immediately  on  the 
verge  of  the  sheet  of  water,  seats  had  been 
arranged  for  the  Court  party.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  lake  a  large  flat  stage,  placed 
across  and  upon  several  firmly-moored 
barges,  was  visible  to  the  thousands  who 
stood  on  the  banks,  forming  a  variegated 
edge  on  the  green  sward  around  the  water. 
On  the  moored  stage,  acrobats,  slack-rope 
dancers,  etc.,  etc.,  displayed  their  feats, 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  211 

and  could  be  seen  by  the  Court  and  the 
crowd  most  conveniently.  There  were 
military  bands  stationed  at  regular  dis- 
tances in  the  gardens ;  and  there  were 
stalls  held  by  celebrities  and  by  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  where  toys  and  knick-knacks 
were  sold  for  the  charity.  One  of  these 
stalls  was  held  by  a  clever  comic  actor 
named  Lober,  who  caused  shouts  of 
laughter  as  he  humorously  disposed  of 
stacks  and  stacks  of  gingerbread  to  eager 
purchasers.  So  perfect  was  the  order 
maintained,  yet  the  freedom  allowed,  that 
Sabilla  and  I  were  able  to  walk  leisurely 
behind  the  platform  on  which  the  royalties 
were  seated ;  and  when  they  descended 
the  steps  thereof,  and  got  into  their  car- 
riages, we  were  standing  within  fifty  paces 
from  them.  No  pushing,  no  elbowing 
among  the  crowd ;  but  quiet  and  orderly 
they  stood,  just  raising  their  hats  respect- 
fully as  the  King  and  Queen  passed.  In 
the  evening  there  was  a  performance  in 
the  Sommertheater,  at  which  the  royalties 


212  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

were  present.  The  King  and  Queen 
laughed  heartily,  and  came  in  quite  sim- 
ple fashion  to  that  small  barn  of  a  theatre, 
seeming  thoroughly  to  enjoy  themselves. 
We  were  close  to  them,  and  could  see 
the  Queen's  sweet  and  amiable  face  com- 
pletely well.  We  were  told  that  she  took 
special  interest  in  the  particular  charity 
for  which  this  *  Gartenfest '  was  got  up 
each  year;  so  that  she  made  a  point  of 
enjoying  its  gaieties  with  her  people. 

We  took  our  leave  of  '  Delightful  Dres- 
den '  and  its  unrivalled  Hoftheater  with  a 
piece  called  ( Prinz  Friedrich  von  Hom- 
burg,'  in  which  my  admirable  Dettmer 
played  to  perfection,  and  Ellmeureich  was 
her  usual  graceful  and  fascinating  self. 
In  one  of  its  scenes,  Dettmer  had  occasion 
to  introduce  most  appropriately  his  singu- 
lar power  of  turning  pale  in  a  moment  of 
intense  emotion,  so  that  I  was  more  than 
ever  convinced  of  his  possessing  this  gift, 
and  also  more  than  ever  charmed  with  his 
full  and  touching  voice. 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  213 

The  next  year,   1881,  was  marked   by 
quite  different,  though  quite  as  interesting, 
experiences.     Sabilla  and    I  were  invited 
by  our  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Littleton,  to 
visit  them  again ;   but  as  their  house   in 
Sydenham  was  undergoing  complete  res- 
toration,   they   were    staying    in    London 
for  the  first  portion  of  our  return  to  Eng- 
land.    This  afforded  an  opportunity  for  us 
to  hear  some  charming  recitals  of  Rubin- 
steins who  was  giving  a  series  in  the  St. 
James's  Hall.     This  was  an  especial  treat 
for   me.     I,  who  had  heard  all  the  most 
celebrated  pianists  for  years  at  the  Phil- 
harmonic   Society    (of    which   my   father 
was   one  of   the  original    instigators  and 
first  members,  and  had  taken  me  regularly 
to  hear  its  concerts,  ever  since  I  was  quite 
a   young   girl),   John    Cramer,    Thalberg, 
Dohler,  Pauer,  etc.,  etc.,  felt  extreme  eager- 
ness to  hear  Rubinstein,  of  whom  I  had 
often  heard,  but  whom  I  had  never  heard 
play.     What  especially  charmed  me  in  his 
playing   that    season   was   the    extremely 


214  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

appropriate  and  characteristic  style  in 
which  he  played  the  respective  composi- 
tions of  each  composer  he  selected  for 
performance  at  his  several  recitals.  I  felt, 
so  to  say,  as  if  he  played  Mozart,  Mozar- 
tianly ;  Beethoven,  Beethovenishly  ;  Weber, 
Weberishly,  and  so  on,  while  his  own 
compositions  he  delivered  with  a  spirit  and 
effect  that  appeared  to  me  to  be  peculiarly 
suited  to  them.  I  particularly  admired  his 
own  manner;  no  breaking  the  time,  no 
exaggerated  tricks. 

One  day  Mr.  Littleton  went  with  me 
to  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  and 
helped  me  to  find  the  fa9ade  of  the  dear  old 
school-house  at  Enfield,  which  had  been 
placed  in  what  were  called  '  The  Exhibi- 
tion Buildings,'  and  was  beautifully  pre- 
served ;  the  pomegranate  garlands  and  the 
cherub  heads  being  quite  complete. 

On  my  birthday  a  delightful  surprise 
had  been  prepared  for  me.  My  kind 
friend  Mr.  Littleton  had  had  printed  for 
me  my  verse  volume  of  '  Honey  from  the 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  215 

Weed,'  and  he  brought  me  the  first  bound 
copy  as  a  birthday  pleasure.  Its  graceful 
and  appropriate  cover  —  ferns  and  weeds, 
with  a  bee  hovering  over  them  extracting 
their  sweets  —  had  been  designed  by  his 
son,  Mr.  Alfred  Littleton,  so  that  a  com- 
bination of  interest  was  contained  in  this 
generous  gift. 

That  same  evening  we  had  a  rehearsal 
of  Sheridan's  comedy  of  '  The  Rivals,'  as  I 
had  been  asked  to  play  Mrs.  Malaprop  in 
the  private  theatricals  which  were  to  take 
place  at  West  wood  House  as  soon  as  the 
rebuilding  there  should  be  completed. 
This  was  accomplished  early  in  July,  when 
we  all  left  London  and  took  up  our  abode 
at  Sydenham,  where  there  was  to  be  a 
garden  party  on  the  Qth  July,  and  three 
performances  of  the  intended  private 
theatricals  later  on.  The  whole  trans- 
formation of  the  mansion  and  projected 
doings  there  seemed  to  me  to  be  quite  an 
Aladdin-Palace  kind  of  celerity  in  achieve- 
ment, but  I  was  installed  in  a  peaceful 


216  MY   LONG  LIFE. 

apartment  called  '  Mrs.  Cowden's  room,' 
where  my  friends  amiably  placed  a  portrait 
of  Shakespeare  over  the  mantelpiece,  and 
where  I  could  write  at  perfect  leisure,  for 
I  was  then  finishing  my  story  of  '  Uncle 
Peep  and  I,'  which  I  had  begun  at  the 
commencement  of  the  year  in  compliance 
with  a  request  made  by  Mrs.  Huntington 
that  I  would  write  a  book  for  American 
children,  having  written  so  much  that 
their  elders  enjoyed.  By  dint  of  working 
all  night  by  gaslight,  and  of  perpetual 
hammering  and  knocking  all  day,  every- 
thing was  ready  for  the  garden  party, 
which  went  off  brilliantly ;  hosts  of  invited 
friends,  a  Hungarian  band  on  the  lawn, 
and  a  part  song  (sung  by  amateur  ladies 
and  gentlemen)  especially  composed  for 
the  occasion,  called  *  Congratulatory  Ode 
to  commemorate  the  restoration  and  re- 
opening of  Westwood  House,  Sydenham, 
on  the  9th  July,  1881.' 

The     three     performances     of      Mark 
Lemon's  pleasant  farce  *  Domestic  Econ- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  217 

omy*  (in  which  Mr.  Augustus  Littleton 
played  the  husband  who  stays  at  home  to 
make  the  pudding,  and  Sabilla  the  wife 
who  goes  out  to  hoe  potatoes),  and  Sheri- 
dan's comedy  of  e  The  Rivals'  (in  which 
Mr.  Alfred  Littleton  played  Captain 
Absolute,  and  I  Mrs.  Malaprop),  took 
place  on  the  25th,  26th,  2;th  July.  The 
first  and  third  of  these  performances  were 
for  friends,  while  the  second  performance 
(by  the  kind  thoughtfulness  of  Mr.  Little- 
ton and  his  sons)  was  given  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  household  servants 
and  all  the  workpeople  who  had  been 
employed  in  the  restoration  of  Westwood 
House  (amounting  to  nearly  200).  One 
of  these  workmen  was  heard  to  say  of  Mrs. 
Malaprop, '  That  is  n't  really  an  old  woman, 
it 's  a  young  woman  got  up  old.'  I  thought 
this  a  very  genuine  and  gratifying  testi- 
mony to  my  being  able  to  act  well  at 
seventy-two  years  of  age.  I  may  mention, 
as  a  characteristic  trait  of  my  liking  for 
preserving  matters  that  possess  a  charm  of 


218  MY  LONG   LIFE. 

sympathetic  remembrance  for  me,  that  I 
then  played  Mrs.  Malaprop  in  the  same 
carefully-kept  costume  (made  by  myself 
from  an  exquisitely  painted  china  silk  given 
to  me  by  an  enthusiastic  lady  who  heard 
I  was  going  to  act  in  1847),  ornamented 
with  the  same  stage  diamonds,  and  that  I 
used  the  same  fan,  the  same  pink  three- 
cornered  note  for  Captain  Absolutes  inter- 
cepted one  to  Lydia  Languish,  and  the 
same  large  letter  with  a  huge  seal  for  that 
which  Sir  Anthony  writes  (both  brought 
out  of  Mrs.  Malapropos  pocket  in  the  scene 
where  she  causes  Captain  Absolute  to  read 
from  his  the  words,  '  The  old  weather- 
beaten  she-dragon  who  guards  you ').  And 
I  possess  the  same  dress,  now  that  I  am 
writing  this  at  eighty-six  years  old.  So 
much  for  innate  individuality  of  disposi- 
tion !  One  of  the  interesting  visits  we 
paid  was  to  Sir  Henry  Bessemer  and  his 
lady,  who  invited  us  to  dine  at  their  charm- 
ing house  on  Denmark  Hill.  He  had 
laid  out  its  grounds  and  the  interior  of  the 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  219 

dwelling  itself  in  the  most  artistic  and 
scientific  style  imaginable.  As  simple- 
mannered  as  original-minded,  he  escorted 
us  round  himself,  showing  and  explaining 
to  us  his  many  ingenious  and  beautiful 
contrivances.  One  of  the  apartments 
leading  into  a  conservatory,  he  had  both 
fitted  up  with  mirrors  so  placed  as  to  give 
what  Dan  Chaucer  calls  'sly  reflections,' 
and  produced  a  curiously  pleasant  effect. 
He  took  me  in  to  dinner,  and  conversed, 
in  easily  familiar  terms,  of  the  mode  in 
which  a  tunnel  is  carried  through  a  moun- 
tain, because  I  had  asked  how  it  was  that 
the  engineers  at  each  end  could  conduct 
it  so  straightly  as  to  meet  precisely  at  the 
point  needed.  We  took  our  way  back  to 
Geneva  by  Coblentz,  Wiesbaden,  Frank- 
furt, Stuttgart,  and  Innsbruck  and  the 
Brenner  Pass,  where  we  were  favoured 
by  distant  views  of  the  Dolomite  Peaks, 
made  visible  to  us  by  brilliant  moonlight. 

On  our  return  home,  having  been  asked 
to  contribute   a  paper    to    the  *  Century 


220  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

Magazine,'  I  wrote,  '  Leigh  Hunt ;  a  De- 
scriptive Sketch/  and  to  please  a  fancy  I 
had  for  attempting  a  story  which  should 
be  quite  comprehensible  and  interesting, 
yet  containing  not  one  single  name,  I 
wrote  '  A  Story  without  a  Name,'  which 
was  published  in  '  The  Girl's  Own 
Paper.' 

1882  began  pleasantly  with  a  visit 
from  our  friend,  Mr.  Littleton,  who,  after 
that,  made  it  an  annual  one  for  several 
succeeding  years,  spending  some  weeks 
in  this  more  genial  climate  during  the  win- 
ter season.  He  invited  us  to  Westwood 
again,  that  we  might  hear  Gounod's  grand 
work,  *  The  Redemption,'  which  was  to  be 
performed  at  the  Birmingham  Festival 
that  August.  Accordingly,  in  June,  we 
went  to  England,  where  we  were  in  good 
time  for  rehearsals  of  an  amateur  per- 
formance that  was  to  take  place  in  July. 
The  entertainment  consisted  of  Shake- 
speare's '  As  you  Like  It/  in  which  Sabilla 
acted  Audrey  preceded  by  a  prologue 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  221 

which  I  had  been  asked  to  write  and  de- 
liver myself.  I  made  it  in  the  form  of  a 
dialogue  between  Mrs.  Malaprop  and  Mrs. 
Cowden,  so  that  it  afforded  scope  for 
numerous  Malapropisms  that  decidedly 
amused  the  audience. 

That  August,  having  an  invitation  from 
our  dear  and  many-year  friend,  Alexander 
Ireland,  to  visit  him  and  his  family  at 
Bowden,  near  Manchester,  I  travelled  up 
and  spent  a  pleasant  few  days  there. 
They  gave  a  large  party  of  notabilities 
there  one  evening  to  meet  me,  which 
honour  somewhat  abashed  my  shyness, 
but  which  I  felt  grateful  for  as  a  proof  of 
my  friend's  goodness. 

On  the  23d  August  we  went  to  hear 
the  rehearsal  of  '  The  Redemption,'  con- 
ducted by  the  glorious  composer  himself. 

At  its  conclusion,  Gounod  mustered 
sufficient  English  to  address  the  orchestra 
with  these  kindly,  courteous  words :  — 

*  Gentlemen,  I  could  rather  have  believed 
to  have  been  a  second  performance  than 


222  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

a  first  rehearsal,  so  correctly  have  you 
played/ 

On  the  25th  we  travelled  down  to  Bir- 
mingham, and  on  the  26th  we  heard  the 
first  rehearsal  of  '  The  Redemption,'  pre- 
vious to  which  we  sat  near  to  Gounod,  to 
whom  we  were  introduced,  and  he  intro- 
duced to  us  his  daughter  Jeanne. 

I  said,  '  Ah,  la  Dodelinette?'  and  he 
answered, '  Oui,  la  Dodelinette!  for  it  was  to 
her  that  he  had  dedicated  his  charming 
lullaby  thus  named,  and  which  he  saw  that 
we  knew. 

The  next  evening  Gounod  was  invited 
to  dine  with  us  by  Mr.  Littleton,  and  a? 
Sabilla  and  I  could  speak  French,  he, 
much  to  my  delight,  was  seated  near  to 
us. 

He  took  me  in  to  dinner,  and  he  and  I 
being  next  each  other  I  could  enjoy  his 
bright  conversation  to  perfection.  Mr. 
Littleton  told  him  that  he  had  already 
made  arrangement  for  ten  different  per- 
formances, at  various  provincial  towns, 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  223 

for  the  performance  of  '  The  Redemption,' 
at  which  Gounod  frankly  manifested  his 
satisfaction  ;  and  when  I  began  to  ecsta- 
cise  on  the  sublimity  of  the  work,  he  owned 
that  he  nearly  shed  tears  as  he  wrote  its 
concluding  bars,  so  intensely  had  he  felt 
the  delight  of  composing  it. 

When  I  told  him  how  keenly  I  sympa- 
thised with  this  feeling,  and  how  I 
thought  that,  upon  the  completion  of  a 
work  into  which  one  has  put  one's  heart, 
one  feels  inspired  to  commence  another, 
he  said,  *  Commencer  un  ceuvre  cPart  quon 
aime,  est  comme  un  mariage  d?  amour? 
And  as  he  uttered  the  words,  what  spark- 
ling expression  there  was  in  his  eloquent 
eyes ! 

After  dinner  he  accompanied  his 
daughter  in  the  song,  *  Loin  du  Pays,'  by 
himself,  and  afterwards  in  the  song,  c  Sou- 
viens  toi  que  je  t'aime '  from  his  opera  of 
Mireille.  She  sang  with  charming  senti- 
ment and  feeling.  Just  before  he  began 
accompanying  her  she  made  us  laugh  by 


224  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

saying  Non,papa,  tu  te  trompes' because  he 
had  made  some  slight  variation  in  the  open- 
ing passage.  The  idea  of  telling  my 
adored  Gounod  that  he  tripped  in  music 
seemed  to  me  beyond  measure  strange 
and  droll. 

The  morning  when  Gounod  came  to 
call  upon  us  to  take  leave,  he  had  left  his 
hat  on  the  table,  and  I,  on  his  departing, 
took  it  to  him  saying,  '  Je  suis  fdch'ee  de 
vous  presenter  votre  chapeau,  M.  Gounod" 
He  promptly  replied,  '  Je  crois  que  vous  ne 
me  mettriez  pas  a  la  porte,  riest-ce  pas? 

He  was  altogether  fascinating  to  me 
personally  as  well  as  composerly. 

I  met  several  distinguished  gentlemen 
at  that  Birmingham  Festival,  two  of  whom, 
Professor  Mahaffy  and  Mr.  Edward  Broad- 
field,  were  drawn  thither  by  the  superla- 
tive treat  of  music  we  then  had,  and  who 
occupied  seats  near  to  ours  during  its  per- 
formance. 

One  morning  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  Mr.  Barnby  try  over  the  '  Sanctus  ' 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  225 

in  Gounod's  just-composed  MS.  Mass, 
and  I  heard  that  Gounod  had  said,  in  his 
finely  imaginative  way,  *  When  I  com- 
posed that  "  Sanctus  "  I  seemed  to  see  the 
assembled  multitude  kneeling  in  devout 
contemplation  of  the  holy  mystery.' 

From  Birmingham  we  returned  to 
Westwood,  and  thence  we  left  for  the 
Continent,  on  the  loth  of  September, 
taking  our  way  back  by  Coblentz  to 
Munich. 

After  taking  tickets  there  for  the  Bren- 
ner Pass,  we  heard  that  there  was  talk  of 
interruption  on  the  railway  line,  and  that 
we  should  not  be  able  to  get  beyond 
Botzen.  Inundation  was  hinted  at,  but 
spoken  of  as  insignificant. 

When  we  reached  Sterzig,  some  gentle- 
men and  ladies  came  kindly  with  um- 
brellas, asking  us  whether  we  would  not 
halt  there,  but  hearing  that  the  hotel  was 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  and  seeing  there 
was  a  heavy  rain  pouring  down,  we 
thought  the  risk  of  taking  severe  colds 
15 


226  MY  LONG  LIFE, 

seemed  worse  than  proceeding,  so  we 
asked  the  guard  whether  he  was  going  on 
to  Brixen.  He  said  Yes,  but  added  that 
telegrams  had  been  received  to  say  that 
no  more  accommodation  of  any  kind  was 
to  be  had  there.  Nevertheless,  we,  know- 
ing that  there  were  more  houses  at  Brixen 
than  we  could  see  at  Sterzig,  resolved  to 
'  stick  to  our  ship,'  as  we  told  the  guard, 
and  proceed  with  him  to  Brixen. 

On  arrival  there,  Sabilla  saw  an  omnibus 
waiting,  and  we  made  for  it,  but  were  told 
by  its  driver  that  it  was  engaged  by  some 
Herrschaft.  We  replied  that  we  would 
ask  them  to  permit  us  to  share  it  with 
them,  and  we  jumped  in. 

The  driver,  finding  that  his  expected 
Herrschaft  did  not  appear,  drove  us  into 
Brixen,  telling  us  he  knew  of  a  house 
there,  kept  by  people  who  might  be  per- 
suaded to  let  us  lodge  with  them. 

In  a  narrow,  arcaded  street  he  drove  up 
to  the  premises  of  a  prosperous  wax-candle 
maker  and  soap-boiler,  and,  after  a  parley 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  227 

with  the  owner's  family,  we  were  taken 
into  the  house. 

Passing  through  the  curious  vaulted 
basement,  that  looked  like  a  smuggler's 
cave  stuffed  full  of  casks  and  packing- 
cases,  we  were  conducted  upstairs,  where 
we  found  large  and  clean  rooms,  bedizened, 
Tyrolese  fashion,  with  pictures  and  cruci- 
fixes, clocks,  toy  china  and  an  extremely 
curious  wooden  figure,  life-size,  of  St.  Carlo 
Borromeo,  which  we  were  assured  had 
been  sculptured  by  a  blind  man.  The 
Tyrolese  are  very  artistic,  and  are  especially 
clever  in  wood-sculpture. 

Most  fortunate  we  esteemed  ourselves ; 
the  people,  kind  as  possible,  giving  up 
their  best  sleeping-room  to  us  and  making 
us  thoroughly  comfortable  and  at  home 
with  them.  The  daughter  used  to  fly 
about  with  a  stentorian  voice  and  cheery 
face,  evidently  enjoying  the  scrimmage> 
dashing  on  a  straw  hat  to  fetch  water  from 
the  well  or  to  the  <  Elephant  Hotel '  for 
our  meals.  Of  an  evening  she  used  to 


228  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

clamber  on  to  a  chair  and  place  a  light 
beneath  a  picture  of  the  Madonna,  while 
often  we  used  to  hear,  before  retiring  for 
the  night,  the  Litany  being  chanted  by 
youthful  voices  in  a  chamber  above. 

Of  this  energetic  maiden  her  mother 
told  us  a  characteristic  anecdote,  that 
when  the  hospital  at  Brixen  had  been 
struck  by  lightning  and  burnt,  her  daugh- 
ter had  carried  down  some  of  the  patients 
pick-a-back,  which  other  maidens  would 
not  do,  so  her  courage  was  known  in  all 
Brixen.  This  daughter,  '  Lotte,'  gave  us 
sad  news  of  cottages  washed  away,  fields 
destroyed,  etc.,  and  the  cruel  rain  con- 
tinued to  carry  sorrow  and  desolation 
with  it.  At  the  post-office  were  stacks  of 
post  parcels  awaiting  possibility  of  transit, 
while  the  letters  were  carried  on  men's 
backs  over  the  high  mountains,  and  the 
poor  fellows  were  working  day  and 
night. 

An  odd,  old-world  custom  was  still  re- 
tained in  Brixen,  which  is  represented  in 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  229 

Mendelssohn's  opera  *  Son  and  Stranger,' 
as  well  as  in  Wagner's  '  Meistersanger,' 
and  which  had  a  curiously-mingled  effect 
of  implied  peril  and  assurance  of  protec- 
tion from  danger.  A  watchman  with  his 
dog  passed  the  house  where  we  were  stay- 
ing, every  hour  between  ten  p.  m.  and 
three  o'clock  a.  m.,  announcing  the  hour 
and  exhorting  to  prayer  in  a  quaint  call. 
This  —  while  the  inundations  went  on, 
and  the  dull,  continuous  downpour  of 
rain  accompanied  the  sound  of  the  watch- 
man's voice  —  was  most  impressive,  but 
when  the  weather  somewhat  cleared,  I 
used  to  listen  to  the  hourly  announcement 
and  exhortation  with  revived  hope  and  trust. 
The  walks  we  were  then  able  to  take  were 
very  interesting,  and  on  the  whole  our  en- 
forced month's  stay  at  Brixen  had  been 
productive  of  good.  The  pure  fresh  air, 
its  kindly  people,  its  interesting  cathedral 
and  environs,  had  improved  our  health 
and  gratified  our  taste.  The  hospitable 
Kirchbaumers  were  kindly  courteous  to 


230  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  very  last  moment,  coming  up  to  the 
station  with  us,  seeing  us  off  with  tears  in 
their  eyes.  Finding  that  return,  by  the 
remainder  of  the  Brenner  Pass,  to  Italy 
was  still  impracticable,  we  retraced  our 
way,  and  went  back  through  Munich, 
Karlsruhe,  and  round  by  the  Mont  Cenis 
Pass  to  Genova. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  an  enor- 
mously large  comet  was  visible  from  our 
house  here.  I  got  up  several  times  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  see  it 
thoroughly.  It  extended  along  the  east- 
ern quarter  of  the  heavens,  fiery-red  and 
portentous  in  magnitude,  making  one 
think  of  Milton's  words,  —  '  Like  a  comet 
burn'd,  that  fires  the  length  of  Ophiuchus 
huge  in  the  arctic  sky.' 

The  next  year,  1883,  I  was  asked  to  con- 
tribute to  the  'St.  Nicholas  Magazine/  a 
periodical  for  children,  and  I  sent  for  in- 
sertion my  juvenile  drama  called  *  Puck's 
Pranks  ; '  and  Mrs.  Meynell  requesting  me 
to  send  her  a  paper  on  ancient  cookery 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  231 

for  the  magazine  she  was  editing  ('  Merry 
England '),  I  wrote  '  On  English  Cookery 
in  Shakespeare's  Time/  that  she  much 
approved. 

In  the  summer  Sabilla  and  I  took  our 
usual  change  to  cooler  and  inland  air.  We 
made  our  first  acquaintance  with  Baden- 
Baden,  which  we  subsequently  frequently 
visited.  From  Baden-Baden,  that  summer, 
we  went  to  our  pleasant  Rhenish  quarters 
at  Coblentz,  remaining  there  some  weeks, 
and  returning  home  to  Genova.  There, 
in  the  winter,  we  had  a  series  of  admirable 
lectures  on  English  literature,  delivered  by 
Mr.  James  Cappon,  a  most  welcome  and 
exceptional  treat  in  Genova.  He  paid  us 
several  visits  at  our  house  here,  and  we 
found  him  as  excellent  in  conversation  as 
in  lecturing. 

We  made  a  novel  experience  in  1884  by 
going  through  the  St.  Gothard  Tunnel  into 
Germany,  and  were  enchanted  by  the 
scenery  we  passed  through,  and  much 
pleased  with  the  capital  arrangements  of 


232  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

the  railway  line  all  along.  We  made  a 
longish  stay  at  Carlsruhe,  seeing  it 
properly  for  the  first  time.  Its  mixture 
of  ducal  court  refinement,  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  a  country  town,  impressed  me 
so  fascinatingly  that  I  wrote  four  sonnets, 
comparing  it  with  my  favourite  Enfield 
and  Dulwich  for  peculiar  charm. 

When  1885  began,  and  Mr.  Littleton  as 
usual  came  to  see  us  in  January,  he  invited 
us  to  go  and  visit  him  and  Mrs.  Littleton 
in  the  summer,  and  go  with  them  to  hear 
Gounod's  '  Mors  et  Vita '  at  the  Birming- 
ham Festival  in  August.  There  was  also 
to  be  an  amateur  performance  at  West- 
wood  of  Ross  Neil's  charming  play  of 
'The  King  and  the  Angel,'  its  subject 
being  the  one  given  in  prose  by  Leigh 
Hunt,  called  '  King  Robert  of  Sicily,'  in 
verse  by  Longfellow  under  the  same  title, 
and  by  William  Morris,  entitled  '  The 
Proud  King.'  So  tempting  a  proposal 
was,  of  course,  accepted  by  Sabilla  and  me ; 
and  on  the  i8th  July  the  promised  per- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  233 

formance  took  place  most  brilliantly.  I 
found  that  Ross  Neil  has  introduced  a 
beautifully  dramatic  and  true-to-nature 
incident,  by  making  a  woman  one  of  the 
means  of  effecting  the  transformed  king's 
reform.  She  is  a  princess,  betrothed  to 
the  king,  treated  by  him,  during  his 
haughty,  overbearing  first  self,  with  neglect 
and  indifference,  but  who,  by  gentle  and 
tenderly  considerate  behaviour  to  him  in 
his  period  of  transformation  to  a  wretched 
outcast,  aids  in  awakening  him  to  a  sense 
of  his  previous  misconduct.  The  Birming- 
ham Festival's  first  introduction  to  the 
public  of  Gounod's  grandly  devout  '  Mors 
et  Vita '  was  an  immense  treat  to  me, 
though  I  sadly  missed  the  presence  of  its 
great  composer,  who  was  unable  to  come 
over  to  England.  I  tried  to  content  my- 
self with  thinking  of  all  he  had  said  and 
looked  when  I  had  met  him  during  the 
performance  of  *  The  Redemption,'  three 
years  before.  During  this  return  to  Bir- 
mingham I  was  taken  by  my  dear,  kind, 


234  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

long-esteemed  friend,  Mr.  Sam  Timmins, 
to  see  the  Shakespeare  Library,  and  it  was 
pleasant  to  me  to  see  almost  every  other 
person  that  passed  touch  his  hat  to  him  as 
we  walked  there  together.  The  building 
for  the  library  was  noble  in  itself,  but  the 
collection  of  treasures  within  was  magnifi- 
cent, and  the  order  preserved  —  both  in 
the  accommodation  of  readers  and  in  the 
arrangement  of  books  —  was  perfectly 
admirable.  Of  course,  the  room  especially 
dedicated  to  the  Shakespeare  Library  was 
the  chief  point  of  interest  to  my  guide  and 
to  me,  and  he  had  one  of  the  curators,  with 
the  keys  of  the  bookcases,  to  open  for  my 
inspection  some  of  the  rarest  and  choicest 
volumes  preserved  there.  Then  he  took 
me  into  the  chief  reading-room,  where 
there  was  a  bust  of  himself,  and  told  me  of 
George  Dawson  (who  for  some  time  was 
believed  to  have  been  the  originator  of  the 
idea  of  this  library)  having  delivered  a 
speech  on  the  very  spot  where  we  stood, 
to  the  effect  that  it  was  Mr.  Timmins  who, 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  235 

in  reality,  was  the  first  to  originate  the 
idea,  and  to  promote  its  fulfilment.  As  I 
sat  there,  Mr.  Timmins  reading  to  me,  in  a 
low  voice,  an  extract  from  this  identical 
speech,  eloquent  and  fervent  in  the 
extreme,  I  was  deeply  touched,  and  the 
reader  himself  was  full  of  emotion.  The 
whole  visit  was  peculiarly  interesting,  and 
both  Mr.  Timmins  and  I  congratulated 
ourselves  on  having  thus  been  able  to 
achieve  it,  having  looked  forward  to  it  for 
some  years.  I  showed  him  the  miniature 
ring  I  wear,  telling  him  I  had  brought  his 
friend  C.  C.  C.  (my  other  self),  to  be  with 
me  in  this  noble  Shakespeare  Library ; 
and  Mr.  Timmins  feelingly  alluded  to  the 
times  when  my  beloved  came  to  lecture  in 
Birmingham,  and  when  their  first  inter- 
view took  place  as  referred  to  in  the  two 
sonnets  I  addressed  to  our  constant  friend. 
On  leaving,  I  was  taken  to  a  large  book 
kept  for  the  purpose  of  registering  visitors, 
and  he  asked  me  to  sign  my  name  therein, 
which  signature  I  found,  to  my  great 


236  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

gratification,  came  next  to  that  of  no  less 
a  personage  than  Russell  Lowell.  I  may 
here  be  permitted  to  mention  that  I  have 
ever  felt  grateful  for  the  liberal  way  in 
which  distinguished  Shakespearians  have 
treated  me  with  a  cordial  fraternity  as  one 
of  their  brotherhood.  In  America,  as  well 
as  England,  this  has  been  the  case.  Even 
now,  as  I  write,  comes  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Timmins,  dated  February  22d,  1896, 
giving  me  an  account  of  the  intended 
celebration  of  Shakespeare's  birthday  on 
the  23d  of  April.  As  long  ago  as  when 
the  Reverend  N.  J.  Halpin  wrote  his 
4  Dramatic  Unities  of  Shakespeare,'  pub- 
lished in  1849,  ne  sent  me  hi§  book  and 
corresponded  with  me;  Dr.  Ingleby  did 
the  same,  and  nowadays  Frederick  Haines, 
one  of  the  trustees  of  the  Shakespeare 
birthplace,  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  writes  me 
delightful  letters,  while  Richard  Savage, 
its  librarian,  sends  me  dried  flowers  from 
the  garden  there.  From  America  I  have 
received  such  continued  courtesies  and 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  237 

kindnesses  that  I  have  felt  as  if  we  had, 
in  Shakespeare's  words,  '  shook  hands  as 
over  a  vast,  and  embraced,  as  it  were,  from 
the  ends  of  opposed  winds.'  Dr.  Horace 
Howard  Furness  sends  me  each  volume  of 
his  magnificent  '  Variorum  Edition  of 
Shakespeare '  as  it  is  successively  pub- 
lished ;  Dr.  W.  J.  Rolfe  has  sent  me  his 
*  Friendly  Edition  of  Shakespeare'  with 
generous  hand,  calling  me  its  godmother 
because  I  gave  it  that  name;  Professor 
Hiram  Corson  has  presented  me  with  the 
books  he  has  written  on  that  and  other 
poetical  subjects,  besides  paying  me  a  visit 
here  when  he  came  to  Europe ;  and  Mr. 
George  H.  Calvert  sent  me  his  '  Shakes- 
peare ;  a  Biographic  and  ^Esthetic  Study,' 
and  also  several  works  he  wrote  on  various 
themes.  From  charming  Celia  Thaxter 
we  had  a  visit  one  Christmas,  when  she 
gaily  helped  us  stone  raisins,  etc.,  for  our 
Christmas  pudding,  and  told  us  ghost- 
stories,  and  proved  herself  the  exact 
being  that  dear  Mr.  James  T.  Fields  de- 


238  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

scribes  her  in  one  of  the  many  delightful 
letters  he  wrote,  telling  me  that  he  always 
called  her  '  the  laughing  girl,'  and  when  he 
sent  me  her  poetical  prose  book,  *  Among 
the  Isles  of  Shoals.'  On  taking  leave  of 
us  that  Christmas  she  gave  me  a  dainty 
volume  of  her '  Poems/  many  pages  of  which 
she  adorned  by  sketches,  in  natural  colours, 
of  flowers,  weeds,  etc.,  dashed  across  the 
page.  Mrs.  James  Field  we  likewise  saw 
more  than  once  on  occasions  when  she 
was  in  Europe.  Her  books  of  poems, 
*  Under  the  Olives,'  and  her  '  Singing 
Shepherd,'  were  her  kind  gifts  to  me. 
Miss  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  her  attached 
friend,  always  accompanied  her  when  she 
came  to  see  us,  and  from  her  I  have 
received  several  of  her  vivid  literary 
pictures  of  American  life.  Similar  ameni- 
ties of  correspondence  and  presents  of 
her  clever  works  I  have  had  from  Miss 
Imogen  Guiney;  so  that  from  American 
ladies  —  and  several  others  unmentioned 
here  —  I  have  received  abundant  and 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  239 

memorable  tokens  of  friendly  feeling.  In 
the  November  of  that  year  I  began  writing 
my  *  Shakespeare's  Self,  as  revealed  in  his 
Writings,'  and  it  was  printed  in  the 
American  Magazine,  *  Shakespeariana,' 
for  April  1886. 

One  of  the  performances  of  Wagner's 
*  Parsifal '  at  Bayreuth  being  announced  to 
take  place  in  the  last-named  year,  Sabilla 
and  I  resolved  we  would  go  thither.  Ar- 
rangements having  been  made  with  the 
authorities,  who  appointed  quarters  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  numerous  visitors 
thronging  thither,  we  were  so  fortunate  as 
to  have  had  selected  for  us  apartments  in 
the  house  of  a  particularly  hospitable 
couple,  with  whom  we  soon  felt  quite  at 
home,  so  kindly  attentive  were  they  to 
our  every  comfort  and  convenience.  The 
town  being  at  some  distance  from  the  the- 
atre, we  engaged  a  small  carriage,  belong- 
ing to  our  hosts,  for  the  whole  of  our  stay 
at  Bayreuth.  The  performances  were 
arranged  with  excellent  care  and  fore- 


240  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

thought ;  between  each  act  trumpets 
sounded  the  call  from  the  opera  of  *  Lo- 
hengrin/ and  the  audience  were  able  to 
enjoy  a  refection  at  the  Restauration  out- 
side the  theatre,  no  one  but  those  who 
had  been  present  there  being  allowed  to 
take  seats  at  each  meal.  The  music  was 
admirably  given;  the  players  in  the  or- 
chestra, stationed  out  of  sight,  took  their 
places,  ready-tuned ;  and  the  vocal  artistes 
were  all  excellent.  Besides  '  Parsifal/  the 
'  Tristan  and  Isolde  '  was  performed  ;  but 
I  must  own  that  I  was  so  much  affected 
by  a  sense  of  weariness,  after  listening 
to  '  Parsifal '  and  subsequently  to  the  first 
act  of  '  Tristan  and  Isolde/  that  I  pre- 
sented my  ticket  to  our  obliging  host- 
ess, who  was  an  enthusiastic  Wagnerite. 
I  am  a  warm  admirer  of  Wagner  in 
his  poetical  treatment  of  '  Der  fliegende 
Hollander '  and  '  Tannhauser/  the  first 
of  which  the  composer  has  been  said  to 
denounce  as  *  too  melodious/  but  which  I 
find  beautifully  and  appropriately  weird ; 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  241 

while  the  imaginative  charm  he  has 
imparted  throughout  the  Venus-haunted 
knight's  career  in  '  Tannhauser '  is,  to 
me,  completely  bewitching. 

From  Bayreuth  we  took  flight  to  our 
*  Delightful  Dresden,'  which  we  found 
attractive  as  ever,  though  we  deeply  re- 
gretted the  loss  of  our  admirable  actor, 
Dettmer,  and  of  the  as  admirable  baritone, 
Degele,  who  had  both  died  in  the  interim. 
However,  very  soon  after  our  revisits  to 
the  Hoftheater,  we  learned  to  appreciate 
the  versatile  talent  of  an  actor  named 
Klein,  who  impersonated,  with  equal 
verity,  President  la  Roquette  (a  real  man 
living  in  Louis  XIV. 's  time,  and  said  to 
have  been  the  prototype  of  Moliere's  *  Tar- 
tuff  e  ') ;  the  cruel  and  implacable  Duke  of 
Alva ;  a  lively  Spanish  page ;  a  self-made 
rich  merchant,  with  white  hair;  and  a 
middle-aged  major,  still  youthful  enough 
in  manner  to  be  irresistible  to  young 
ladies.  In  all  and  each  of  these  char- 
acters Klein  was  wonderfully  true  to 
nature. 

16 


242  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

One  evening  after  our  arrival,  while  we 
were  seated  in  our  usual  places  in  the 
stalls,  a  pencilled  note  was  brought  to  us 
by  the  stall-keeper,  on  which  was  written : 
1  Look  up  to  the  box  on  the  right  of  the 
royal  one,  and  you  will  see  some  friends 
who  love  you.'  They  proved  to  be  the 
three  ladies  Huntington,  whom  we  had 
known  before  in  Dresden  in  1880;  and 
when  we  met  on  the  grand  staircase, 
after  the  performance,  they  spoke  most 
earnestly  and  affectionately  to  us.  Our 
stay  in  Dresden  was  as  entirely  agreeable 
as  our  visits  there  had  always  been  on 
previous  occasions;  and  we  returned  to 
Genova  by  Zurich  and  the  St.  Gothard 
Pass. 

The  editor  of  '  The  Girl's  Own  Paper ' 
having  requested  me  to  send  him  a 
contribution,  I  wrote  '  Shakespeare  as 
the  Girl's  Friend,'  which  was  printed  in 
the  number  for  4th  June  1887.  Later  on, 
my  'Story  Without  a  Name/  and  my 
*  Benemilda ;  or  the  Path  of  Duty '  also 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  243 

appeared  in  that  graceful  periodical.  In- 
viting our  niece  Valeria  to  accompany 
us  that  summer,  we  went  to  Brunnen, 
and  took  up  our  abode  in  the  Waldstat- 
terhof,  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  of  the  four 
cantons,  surrounded  by  the  glorious 
mountain  snow  peaks.  Amid  that  sub- 
lime scenery  I  wrote  my  Centennial 
Biographic  Sketch  of  Charles  Cowden- 
Clarke.'  This,  and  my  *  Memorial  Son- 
nets,' etc.,  kind  Mr.  Littleton  caused  to 
be  printed  in  order  that  I  might  have 
copies  to  give  to  friends. 

From  Brunnen  we  proceeded  to  Baden- 
Baden,  where  we  much  enjoyed  our  time, 
for  we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  several  musically  and 
generally  accomplished  families,  who  be- 
came lasting  friends  of  ours  whenever  we 
subsequently  revisited  Baden-Baden's  deli- 
cious greenwood  shades. 

In  my  opinion,  it  is  extremely  pleasant 
to  see  how  the  young  ladies  come  in  from 
the  kitchen,  where  they  had  been  engaged 


244  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

in  household  superintendence,  and  in 
acquiring  practical  experience,  still  wear- 
ing their  neat  little  white  aprons  with 
bibs,  and  then  seat  themselves  at  the 
pianoforte  to  take  part,  with  one  of  their 
parents,  in  some  duet  by  a  favourite  com- 
poser. It  seems  to  me  that  this  wise 
combination  of  domesticity  and  skill  in 
music  forms  a  perfect  feminine  education, 
as  wise  as  it  is  productive  of  pleasure. 
And  it  was  our  gratification  to  witness 
more  than  one  instance  of  this  judicious 
bringing  up  young  ladies,  rendering  them 
able  to  become  thoroughly  competent 
mistresses  of  a  house  when  they  marry,  as 
well  as  artistically  accomplished  compan- 
ions to  their  husbands. 

In  our  summer  journey,  the  following 
year,  we  were  accompanied  by  our  niece 
Porzia,  whom  we  invited  to  enjoy  the 
cooler  air  of  Tyrol  and  Germany.  Very 
soon  after  our  arrival  at  Innsbruck,  Sa- 
billa  made  the  welcome  discovery  that  a 
peasant  play  was  to  be  given  at  the  Som- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  245 

mertheater  not  far  off,  in  the  afternoon ; 
so  we  all  three  drove  there,  and  found  a 
small  neat  theatre,  built  of  boards,  in  a 
Restauration  Garten,  and  where  we  took 
our  tickets  for  the  best  places  (like  the 
stalls)  at  a  franc  each.  All  the  perform- 
ers were  amateurs,  mostly  peasants,  and 
the  first  actress  the  wife  of  a  shoemaker ! 
She  was  perfectly  charming ;  and  the  rest 
were  more  than  respectable.  The  piece 
was  of  the  high  romantic  style,  and  con- 
sisted of  a  mediaeval  story  pertaining  to 
a  certain  castle  near  to  Innsbruck.  It 
was  called  '  The  Tournament  of  Kron- 
stein,'  and  most  of  the  characters  figured 
in  antique  armour,  while  the  widow- 
countess-heroine  wore  picturesque  mediae- 
val costumes.  She  looked  like  an  old- 
master  portrait,  was  refined  in  her  voice, 
her  look,  her  movements,  and  was  alto- 
gether thoroughly  unconventional  and 
interesting. 

One  day,  opposite  to  us  at  table  cf  hote, 
we  saw   two   ladies   take   their  seats  very 


246  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

quietly,  one  of  them  wearing  a  simple 
white  frock,  and  looking  so  girlish,  that 
Sabilla  whispered  to  me,  — '  Though  that 
young  lady  looks  so  unpretending  and 
quiet,  she  seems  to  me  to  be  accustomed  to 
be  "  a  somebody."  :  On  speaking  to  her, 
after  dinner,  we  found  that  she  was  no  other 
than  the  superlative  pianiste,  Fanny  Davies, 
and  she  said,  '  I  had  already  recognised 
you,  for  you  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  at 
the  Birmingham  Festival  as  Vincent  No- 
vello's  daughters.  She  became  delight- 
fully familiar  and  friendly  with  us,  and 
generously  offered  to  play  to  us.  The 
obliging  master  of  the  hotel  lent  us  his 
own  parlour,  which  had  a  better  piano- 
forte in  it  than  the  one  in  the  reading* 
room ;  and  many  an  evening's  superb  treat 
of  music  by  the  best  composers  did 
Fanny  Davies  give  us.  Ever  after,  she 
has  been  called  by  me  'my  Charmer'; 
and  numerous  have  been  the  charming 
feasts  she  has  given  us,  when  meeting 
her  in  Germany,  or  when  she  favoured 


MY   LONG   LIFE.  247 

us  by  visits  to  us  here  in  Geneva.  From 
Innsbruck  we  went  to  Munich,  where 
Sabilla  and  Porzia  were  much  interested 
to  hear  the  early  opera  of  Wagner's 
called  '  Die  Feen,'  which  was  got  up 
with  the  usual  poetry  and  beauty  that 
distinguished  the  performances  at  the 
Munich  Hof theater. 

We  left  Munich  for  Stuttgart,  where  we 
daily  used  to  listen  to  the  fine  military 
band  on  the  Platz,  and  to  the  chorale  that 
was  each  noon  to  be  'blasen"  from  the 
tower  of  the  Stifts  Kirche,  a  curious 
antique  ceremonial  observed  there.  It 
was  most  interesting  to  hear  this  old 
chorale  blown  by  instruments  sounding 
like  a  gigantic  ^Eolian  harp  up  there, 
among  the  angles  of  architectural  or- 
namentation belonging  to  the  quaint  old 
church. 

One  evening  a  Generalissimo  having  ar- 
rived, a  serenade  was  given  to  him,  which 
I  enjoyed  throughout.  At  eight  o'clock  the 
sound  of  a  military  band  became  audible, 


248  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

and  soon  came  moving  on  in  double  file 
a  long  array  of  soldiers  bearing  coloured 
lanterns  and  playing  a  bright  march. 
Then  they  drew  up  at  the  angle  of  the 
two  streets  on  which  our  hotel  abutted, 
and  began  with  an  appealing  fanfare  of 
trumpets.  Then  followed  two  grave 
pieces  —  like  chorales — sounding  forth 
majestically  and  full-toned.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  quick,  brisk  movement,  upon 
which  the  entire  vast  crowd  burst  forth 
with  loud  and  enthusiastic  'Hocks' ;  while 
the  Generalissimo  presented  himself  at  the 
window  and  saluted  the  crowd.  The 
whole  thing  was  a  sight  and  sound  never 
to  be  forgotten,  and  I  thought  myself 
fortunate  to  have  had  so  many  opportuni- 
ties of  enjoying  German  summers  and 
delightful  Italian  home-winter-residence, 
enhanced  by  English  comforts  and  dear, 
ever-loved  English  ties. 

We  made  some  stay  at  Carlsruhe  on  our 
return  journey,  and  were  charmed  with  that 
delightful  lyric  artiste,  Mailhae,  who  acts 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  249 

as  finely  as  she  sings.  As  Reiza,  in 
Weber's  opera  of  '  Oberon/  she  was  ex- 
quisite, especially  in  the  last  aria;  so 
descriptive  of  utter  grief  and  despair,  she 
was  content  to  remain  perfectly  motion- 
less, with  one  arm  drooping  at  her  side, 
and  the  other  listlessly  lying  across  her 
person,  while  her  head  inclined  gently 
down,  giving  completely  the  effect  of  com- 
plete woe-begone  sense  of  loss.  In  other 
characters  she  is  quite  as  dramatically 
natural.  As  Catherine  the  Shrew  (in 
Gotz's  opera  taken  from  Shakespeare's 
*  Taming  of  the  Shrew')  she  was  admi- 
rable ;  and  in  the  gay  little  Tyrolese  after- 
piece she  enacted  a  rustic  maiden,  making 
her  easy,  active,  playful  and  pouting  all  in 
turn,  with  bewitching  effect. 

The  year  1889  opened  brilliantly  for  us. 
Miss  Fanny  Davies  and  Miss  Grist  paid  us 
a  flying  visit  here  in  Geneva,  when  '  my 
Charmer '  played  us,  in  her  wonted  gener- 
ous and  perfect  style,  Mendelssohn,  Chopin, 
Rubinstein,  etc.,  and  in  the  evening  the 


250  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

ladies  enjoyed  a  performance  at  the 
Marionette  Theatre,  to  which  Sabilla  in- 
vited them  as  an  Italian  curiosity  of  enter- 
tainment. We  made  a  change  in  our 
summer  excursion  that  year,  thinking  we 
would  try  if  a  less  distant  one  might  prove 
equally  effectual  as  a  refuge  from  too  per- 
petual residence  by  the  seaside.  Accord- 
ingly, we  went  to  a  beautiful  spot  on  the 
north  side  of  one  of  the  Turinese  Hills, 
called  San  Genesio.  Magnificent  view 
towards  the  Val  d'Aosta,  finely-wooded 
environment,  and  a  spacious,  well-built 
hotel  promised  well.  Delicious  wander- 
ings in  the  woods,  with  occasional  luxu- 
rious rests  on  commodiously-placed  seats 
under  the  trees,  made  our  days  pass  pleas- 
antly, and  during  our  stay  I  had  the  excep- 
tional delight  of  seeing  many  a  sunrise, 
besides  beholding  an  eclipse  of  the  moon 
from  its  commencement  to  its  close.  A 
rural  touch  about  some  of  the  ways  of  the 
house  brought  us  acquainted  with  a  flight 
of  pigeons,  three  of  them  being  special 


MY  LONG   LIFE.  251 

friends  of  ours.  They  used  to  come  as 
regularly  as  possible  for  crumbs  from  our 
hands ;  and  once,  when  Sabilla  and  I  had 
taken  refuge  in  a  shady  reading-room, 
where  its  half-closed  shutters  and  open 
door  made  the  excessive  heat  bearable 
while  she  was  playing  on  the  pianoforte  for 
me,  in  trotted  our  three  feathered  friends, 
evidently  come  to  seek  for  us. 

However,  notwithstanding  the  many  at- 
tractions of  San  Genesio,  we  agreed  that, 
being  in  Italy,  it  did  not  afford  sufficiently 
cool  air  for  our  summer  need,  so  we  went 
straight  to  Lucerne,  where  we  found  re- 
markable contrast  from  our  just-left  sojourn 
at  San  Genesio  to  this  Swiss  resort,  with 
its  more  than  a  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea  coolness  and  its  crowded  hotel.  Dur- 
ing our  stay  there,  whom  should  we  see 
arrive  but  Mr.  Alfred  Littleton  and  Dr. 
Dulcken  —  the  former,  as  always,  full  of 
amiable  courtesy  and  attention  to  me,  the 
latter,  one  of  the  best  of  conversers,  who 
generally  took  his  seat  beside  mine,  and 


252  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

gave   me  what   Dr.  Johnson   calls   '  good 
talk/ 

Some  time  afterwards  a  gentleman  darted 
out  of  a  room  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
corridor  to  ours,  and  said,  *  I  think  one  of 
you  ladies  is  Mrs.  Cowden-Clarke.'  Sabilla 
pointed  to  me,  whereupon  he  began,  *  I 
want  to  speak  a  word  with  you,'  and  then 
proceeded  to  tell  me  that  he  was  Mr. 
Armstrong,  that  his  father  was  the  Ameri- 
can publisher  who  wished  to  bring  out  a 
new  and  complete  edition  of  my  *  Girlhood 
of  Shakespeare's  Heroines/  This  project 
was,  to  my  great  joy,  ultimately  carried 
out,  and  more  than  forty  years  after  the 
first  edition  had  been  printed  in  London, 
this  new  and  complete  one  was  simultane- 
ously published  by  Messrs.  Armstrong  of 
New  York  and  Messrs.  Hutchinson  of 
Paternoster  Square,  London.  I  may  here 
take  occasion  to  say  that  all  my  experience 
of  publishers  has  been  most  agreeable. 
Contrary  to  the  prejudiced  opinion  some- 
times expressed,  that  authors  and  pub- 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  253 

lishers  are  often  antagonistic  in  their  trans- 
actions, I  have  invariably  met  with  courtesy 
and  kindliness.  Ever  since  an  interview 
I  once  had  with  Lord  Byron's  John 
Murray,  another  that  I  had  with  Mr.  Col- 
burn,  I  have  been  treated  with  considera- 
tion, and  even  with  amiability.  I  cannot 
forget,  for  instance,  that  when  I  wrote  to 
Messrs.  Longman  &  Company,  requesting 
them  to  give  me  a  particular  article  I 
wanted  from  an  expensive  book  they  were 
bringing  out,  saying  that  I  could  not  then 
afford  to  purchase  the  whole  work,  and 
mentioning  that  my  father  had  in  former 
years  taught  Miss  Longman  to  play  the 
organ,  the  reply  I  received  was  not  only 
couched  in  most  obliging  terms,  but  was 
accompanied  by  the  gift  I  had  requested. 

I  may  also  mention  the  behaviour  of 
Messrs.  Manning  &  Mason  when  they 
had  printed  my  '  Concordance  to  Shakes- 
peare/ and  I  went  to  their  establishment 
in  Ivy  Lane  in  order  to  sign  my  name 
to  each  copy,  all  was  prepared  for  me 


254  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

with  utmost  regard  to  my  convenience 
during  the  long  day  I  spent  there  from 
early  morning  to  late  evening,  listening 
to  each  hour  that  boomed  from  the  bell 
of  St.  Paul's  cathedral.  I  must  not  omit 
to  record  that  from  American  publishers 
I  have  likewise  received  tokens  of  marked 
regard.  Messrs.  Munroe,  Messrs.  Roberts 
of  Boston,  Mr,  J.  P.  Putnam,  and  Messrs. 
Appleton  of  New  York,  have  each  and  all 
shown  me  much  that  proves  the  courtesy 
of  publishers  to  authors.  My  dear  Mr. 
James  Fields  was  noted  for  his  goodness 
to  authors,  and  to  him  I  not  only  am 
indebted  for  numerous  delightful  letters, 
but  also  for  treasured  gifts  of  his  own 
poems  and  essays,  his  charming  *  Yester- 
days with  Authors/  and  his  *  Letter  to 
Leigh  Hunt  in  Elysium,'  written  in  a 
style  remarkably  akin  to  the  playful  spirit 
of  Leigh  Hunt's  own  manner 

From  Lucerne  we  went  to  Lugano  and 
stayed  at  the  Hotel  du  Pare,  which  I  re- 
membered had  been  so  rapturously  de- 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  255 

scribed  by  a  gentleman  whom  my  Charles 
and  I  had  met  at  Arona  as  long  ago  as 
1862,  that  I  had  often  longed  to  visit  this 
particular  hostelry.  It  proved  a  realisa- 
tion of  my  wish ;  being  a  monastery  con- 
verted into  a  hotel,  and  containing  fine 
long  corridors  with  plenteous  side-rooms. 
Moreover,  the  apartment  appointed  for 
Sabilla's  and  my  reception  overlooked  a 
garden  in  which  there  was  a  Moresco 
alcove,  where  an  excellent  band  played, 
morning  and  evening,  a  capital  selection 
of  music.  On  the  evening  of  our  first 
arrival  at  Lugano,  this  band  breathed 
out  its  enchanting  sounds,  while  a  soft 
moonlight  gave  perfection  to  this  com- 
bination of  beauty.  Deeply  grateful  did 
I  feel  for  having  had  so  many  of  my 
dearest  and  highest  ideals  vouchsafed  to 
me  during  my  long  and  exceptionally 
blest  life.  The  whole  of  our  stay  in 
Lugano  was  most  pleasant  to  us,  and 
we  did  not  return  to  Genova  until  the 
end  of  September. 


256  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

At  Easter,  in  the  following  year,  we 
had  another  melodious  flying  visit  from 
'my  Charmer/  Fanny  Davies,  but  when 
the  summer  came  we  ourselves  flew  from 
Italian  heat  to  seek  change  into  cooler 
inland  air ;  and  having  so  much  enjoyed 
our  autumnal  experience  at  Lugano,  we 
thought  we  would  try  whether  we  could 
find  freshness  there.  Our  reception  was 
pleasant,  the  same  congenial  apartment 
overlooking  the  garden,  but,  alas !  no  band 
in  the  Moresco  alcove,  the  season  not 
being  the  one  when  the  players  resorted 
there.  However,  we  were  not  without 
music,  for  a  nightingale  saluted  us  on 
arrival,  carolling  in  '  full-throated  ease ' 
among  the  trees  of  the  hotel  garden,  one 
end  of  which  overlooks  the  lake,  As  a 
farther  regale  to  our  music  loving  ears, 
one  day,  as  we  were  pacing  up  and  down 
one  of  the  long  corridors,  we  heard  the 
sounds  of  a  pianoforte,  and,  on  inquiry, 
learned  that  it  was  the  daughter  of  the 
house  practising.  The  playing  was  so 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  257 

good,  and  the  pieces  played  so  excellent, 
that  we  asked  whether  it  would  be  con- 
sidered indiscreet  were  we  to  beg  admis- 
sion to  listen.  The  reply  from  the  mother 
of  the  young  lady  was  most  courteous, 
and  when  we  knocked  at  the  door  of  the 
room  next  day,  we  were  received  with 
fascinating  sweetness  of  manner,  and  were 
played  to  for  at  least  an  hour,  with  charm- 
ing liberality,  pieces  by  Chopin,  Schumann, 
etc.,  etc.  We  were  indulged  with  several 
of  these  artistic  treats  by  this  accomplished 
young  lady  player,  who  was  as  simple- 
mannered  and  girlish-gay  as  she  was 
skilled  in  music;  for  when  Sabilla  gave 
her  a  copy  of  her  '  Bluebeard '  books,  she 
skipped  about  the  room  with  joy.  Eng- 
lish, as  well  as  French  and  Italian,  were 
known  to  her,  besides  German,  so  that  she 
could  enjoy  the  perusal  perfectly.  We, 
of  course,  took  some  drives  along  the 
finely-kept,  steep  roads  around  Lugano, 
but  notwithstanding  its  many  attractions, 
its  persevering  heat  made  us  feel  that  we 
17 


258  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

should  do  well  to  remove  into  higher  and 
cooler  air ;  therefore,  we  took  leave  of  the 
obliging  proprietors  of  the  Hotel  du  Pare 
and  their  charming  daughter  with  heartiest 
feelings  of  gratitude.  The  courtesy  of 
the  proprietor  took  final  climax  in  the 
mode  wherewith  he  arranged  our  depar- 
ture, for  we  found  awaiting  us  at  the  door 
his  own  carriage  and  pair  to  convey  us  to 
the  station,  while  he  himself  issued  from 
his  cloistral  court-yard  and  presented  us  a 
choice  bouquet  each,  from  his  daughter, 
with  her  best  remembrances.  He  was 
interested  when  he  found  we  were  going 
to  Baden-Baden,  as  he  himself  was  a 
native  of  that  place,  and  he  stood  for  some 
minutes  telling  us  of  the  Grand  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Baden,  and  of  the  Duchess  of 
Mechlinburg-Strelitz,  who  had  given  him 
a  diamond  ring  which  he  showed  us,  and 
said  how  gracious  they  had  been  to  him 
when  they  stayed  at  his  hotel.  In  thank- 
ing him  for  all  his  courtesies  to  us,  we 
told  him  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  took  us 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  259 

for  some  of  these  royalties,  he  treated  us 
so  distinguishably.  We  halted  for  a  night 
in  the  St.  Gothard  Hotel  at  Lucerne, 
obtaining  from  the  window  of  our  room  a 
fine  view  of  the  chief  portion  of  the  town 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake,  while  the 
lake  itself  was  crowned  by  heights  as  far 
as  the  Rigi  Culm,  forming  a  noble  pano- 
rama. It  was  illumined  by  myriads  of 
lights  —  electric  ones,  gas  ones,  red  and 
green  ones  —  giving  the  effect  of  a  superb 
and  extensive  illumination,  while  near  at 
hand  were  the  lights  of  the  railway  station 
and  its  illuminated  clock.  These  brillian- 
cies gave  sufficient  light  in  our  room  to 
enable  us  to  dispense  with  candles  when  we 
went  to  bed  —  a  dispensation  that  always 
pleases  me.  Next  morning,  at  dawn,  I 
still  enjoyed  the  spacious  prospect,  though 
under  a  very  different  aspect.  Without 
getting  up  from  my  bed  I  could  see 
Lucerne  and  its  two  spires,  in  a  grey  veil 
of  mist,  looking  very  like  that  wonderful 
picture  by  Cuyp,  '  A  View  of  Dort,'  which 


2<5o  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

I  once  saw  at  the  Exhibition  of  Old 
Masters  in  London.  Then,  at  sunrise,  my 
scene  was  lighted  up  brilliantly,  and  lasted 
thus  for  a  short  interval,  till,  later  on, 
though  the  sky  clouded  over,  it  still 
afforded  me  an  exquisite  picture. 

On  arriving  at  Baden-Baden,  we  almost 
immediately  found  our  health  and  spirits 
improve  from  the  change  to  the  green  at- 
mosphere that  has  always  seemed  to  me 
to  distinguish  that  picturesque  spot.  Its 
early  hours,  its  orderly  way  of  providing 
for  the  comfort  and  convenience  of  visitors, 
its  artistic  resources,  its  friendly  hospitali- 
ties combine  to  make  it  a  specially  health- 
ful as  well  as  agreeable  sojourn  to  us,  and 
I  owe  it  most  grateful  regard.  On  arrival, 
we  heard  that  Dom  Pedro,  the  Emperor  of 
Brazil,  was  again  there.  We  had  had 
gracious  notice  from  him  when  he  had 
been  in  Baden-Baden  at  the  time  our  niece 
Valeria  was  with  us  in  1887,  and  His  Im- 
perial Highness  was  as  gracious  as  ever 
towards  us,  while  our  curtseys  were  deeper 


MY   LONG  LIFE.  261 

than  ever,  since  in  the  interim  he  had  lost 
his  throne.  One  day  we  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  hearing  a  discourse  from  the 
celebrated  religious  reformer,  Pere  Hya- 
cinthe,  in  the  English  Church  at  Baden- 
Baden.  His  discourse  was  chiefly  con- 
cerning his  ardent  desire  to  see  peace  and 
goodwill  and  mutual  forbearance  between 
all  churches  and  forms  of  religious  wor- 
ship. His  manner  was  earnest,  and,  at 
the  beginning,  tranquil,  but  rose  into  ve- 
hemence and  urgency  as  he  proceeded. 
His  French  was,  of  course,  perfect,  his 
enunciation  was  clear,  his  voice  effective. 
He  was  very  eloquent,  inasmuch  as  he  was 
never  for  a  moment  at  a  loss  for  pertinent 
expressions  and  telling  phrases.  He  had 
a  way  of  lapsing  occasionally  into  quite 
familiar  manner  and  utterance,  then  rising 
into  more  emphatic  and  florid  appeal.  He 
dwelt  with  hearty  congratulation  on  the 
present  possibility  of  speaking  out  freely 
on  matters  of  belief  and  form  of  worship, 
in  contrast  with  the  former  suppression  of 


262  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

opinion  and  oppression  of  liberal  ideas. 
We  had  resolved  to  walk  back,  so  we 
strolled  leisurely  along  the  ever-lovely 
Lichtenthaler  Allee,  till  we  reached  the 
milk  establishment  where  the  cows  assem- 
ble at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  afford- 
ing delicious  drink  to  dozens  of  children 
and  invalids.  The  extreme  heat  made  a 
frothed-up  tankard  of  the  lily-white  bev- 
erage very  welcome  to  us.  As  the  water 
of  the  spring  near  to  us  had  a  bitter  taste, 
and  we  were  still  thirsty  that  evening, 
which  was  overpoweringly  hot,  our  ever- 
willing  maid,  Pasquina,  ran  out  to  fetch 
us  some  from  a  picturesque  fount  near 
the  Trinkhalle,  that  water  being  famed 
for  its  purity.  The  fitting-up  of  this 
pretty  little  spring  is  most  tasteful.  It 
issues  from  a  rock  overgrown  with  green 
climbers,  amid  which  a  tube,  in  the  form 
of  a  serpent  (the  emblem  of  health),  seems 
to  be  sliding  down  the  rock,  and  affords 
a  perpetually  gushing  stream  of  this  clear 
spring  water. 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  263 

There  was  an  organ  performance  on  the 
6th  September,  which  seemed  so  appro- 
priate in  date  for  celebration  of  the 
anniversary  of  our  dear  father's  birthday, 
that  Sabilla  and  I  went  to  hear  it  in  the 
Protestant  church,  where  the  performance 
took  place.  What  a  glorious  instrument 
is  the  organ,  and  how  tenderly  is  it 
associated  in  my  thought  We  renewed 
acquaintance  with  a  delightful  composer 
and  amiable  old  gentleman — Herr  Rosen- 
hain ;  and  he  invited  us  to  his  weekly 
matinees  whenever  we  felt  inclined  to 
drive  out  to  his  villa  at  Lich  ten  thai.  We 
naturally  availed  ourselves  of  this  invita- 
tion very  often;  but  when  we  said  we 
hoped  we  should  not  be  indiscreet  in 
doing  so,  he  replied,  *  I  cannot  see  too 
much  of  those  I  like,  or  too  little  of  those 
I  dislike.'  On  one  of  these  occasions, 
when  we  arrived  at  Villa  Rosenhain,  and 
had  carriaged  thither,  Fanny  Davies  and 
Miss  Grist,  we  found  that  there  was  a 
rehearsal  going  on  in  the  music-room,  so 


264  MY   LONG   LIFE. 

that  we  were  requested  to  take  seats  in  the 
hall  until  the  rehearsal  was  over.  While 
we  stayed  there,  who  should  come  in  but 
Clara  Schumann  (who  had  just  arrived  in 
Baden-Baden),  and  she  remained  also 
quietly  in  the  hall,  whispering  to  us,  and 
leaving  her  hand  in  mine  as  she  talked 
cordially  to  me.  I  remember  feeling 
curiously  thrilled  as  I  stood  clasping  the 
hand  that  had  been  dear  to  Robert  Schu- 
mann, and  had  so  ably  interpreted  his 
compositions.  When  we  entered  the 
music-room  we  had  the  treat  of  hearing 
Herr  Rosenhain's  concerto,  arranged  for 
two  pianofortes,  played  by  himself  and 
Fanny  Davies  in  admirable  style ;  then 
followed  some  of  Schumann's  songs,  sung 
by  an  amateur  gentleman  with  a  charming 
tenor  voice,  and  in  a  style  so  refined,  so 
distinct  an  enunciation  of  words,  so  touch- 
ing in  expression,  that  we  complimented 
him  afterwards.  He  took  our  praises 
with  evident  gratification,  but  said  that 
he  owned  to  being  rather  nervous  while 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  265 

singing  the  Schumann  songs,  as  he  did 
not  feel  quite  sure  whether  Madame  Schu- 
mann might  approve  the  manner  in  which 
he  sang  them.  Herr  Rosenhain  had  a 
very  agreeable  mode  of  introducing  cer- 
tain of  his  guests  to  each  other ;  and 
among  others  that  morning  he  presented 
to  Sabilla  a  gentleman  who  remembered 
being  at  the  Bonn  Festival  when  she  sang 
there,  and  recollected  Spohr  there,  as  well 
as  the  incident  of  Liszt's  lending  his  gilt 
chairs  for  our  Queen  and  Prince  Albert, 
when  they  unexpectedly  arrived  there,  as 
Liszt  always  travelled  with  his  own  splen- 
did furniture.  That  same  morning  Herr 
Rosenhain  introduced  us  to  an  extremely 
interesting  personage  —  a  sweet-faced, 
sweet-mannered  young  lady,  who  smiled 
and  curtseyed  to  us  —  no  other  than 
charming  Cecile  Mendelssohn,  grand- 
daughter of  Felix,  and  namesake  of  his 
pretty  wife.  She  became  one  of  the  most 
delightfully  constant  friends  we  made  in 
Baden-Baden,  and  felt  an  immediate  in- 


266  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

terest  in  our  having  known  her  illustrious 
grandfather  when  he  was  just  about  the 
age  of  her  own  when  we  met  her.  She 
has  since  married,  and  still  retains  her 
renowned  name,  as  she  wedded  her  cousin, 
Herr  Otto  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy. 

Altogether  our  stay  in  Baden-Baden 
that  year  was  one  of  the  most  productive 
of  enjoyment  we  ever  had  there.  1891 
being  the  year  appointed  for  another 
Mozart  Musikfest  in  Salzburg,  we  resolved 
to  go  thither  again  that  summer.  The 
effect  of  his  own  superb  Requiem  being 
performed  in  the  cathedral  where  he  had 
so  often  worshipped,  was  to  me  ineffably 
imposing.  The  fine  Viennese  orchestra 
and  several  famed  artistes  played  and  sang, 
accompanied  by  the  organ,  while,  as  I 
listened,  I  beheld  a  brilliant  ray  of  sun- 
light stream  through  the  stained-glass 
window  opposite  to  me,  seeming  as  though 
the  spirit  of  the  divinely  inspired  composer 
himself  were  present.  From  Salzburg  we 
went  up  to  *  Delightful  Dresden,'  as  it  had 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  267 

been  a  long  promise  to  our  niece  Valeria 
that  we  would  take  her  there  some  day ; 
and  she  and  her  brother  Giovanni,  whom 
we  also  invited,  were  with  us  during  our 
very  pleasant  sojourn  on  this  occasion. 
We  made  it  our  rule,  as  before,  to  enjoy 
every  performance  at  the  Hoftheater, 
where  a  really  fine  actor,  named  Drach, 
inspired  us  with  ardent  admiration.  He 
impersonated  Hamlet  and  other  Shake- 
spearian characters  with  true  poetic  and 
artistic  inspiration.  His  Coriolanus,  for 
instance,  in  which  I  could  well  remember 
Macready,  appeared  to  me  to  be  worthy  of 
all  praise.  Our  later  years  have  passed 
placidly  in  alternate  summer  visits  to 
Germany  and  enjoyment  of  home  music 
with  home  pursuits,  literary  or  social. 
Speaking  of  literary  pursuits,  I  may  men- 
tion that  much  of  my  reading,  latterly,  has 
been  peering  into  favourite  old  books,  with 
sparing  perusal  of  modern  ones ;  and  I 
refer  to  the  fact  of  my  retaining  the  con- 
scientiousness that  was  encouraged  in  me 


268  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

by  my  dear  mother  while  I  was  a  child, 
for  the  sake  of  showing  how  in  old  age  the 
same  characteristic  exists.  A  volume  of 
farces,  which  has  its  table  of  contents 
marked  by  her  with  a  pencilled  cross 
against  those  pieces  she  forbade  me  to 
read,  has  caused  me  never  to  peruse  those 
particular  farces.  Coarseness  has  ever 
been  my  abhorrence ;  for  well  does  Shelley 
say  in  his  noble  *  Defence  of  Poetry,'  — 
*  Obscenity  is  blasphemy  against  the  divine 
beauty  in  life  ;  *  and  Sir  John  Lubbock,  in 
his  charming  book,  *  The  Pleasures  of 
Life,'  says,  — '  The  soul  is  dyed  by  its 
thoughts ;  we  cannot  keep  our  minds  pure 
if  we  allow  them  to  be  sullied  by  detailed 
accounts  of  crime  and  sin.' 

Therefore,  I  allow  myself  to  revel  in  my 
beloved  poets,  and  some  very  favourite 
novels,  etc.,  on  my  shelves,  thinking  I  may 
as  well  indulge  my  now  less-strong  eyesight 
with  looking  only  into  preferred  books, 
especially  if  they  have  the  advantage  of 
being  printed  in  clearly  legible  type. 


MY  LONG  LIFE.  269 

My  sister  Sabilla  laughingly  says  I 
might  have  taken  for  the  motto  of  this 
book  the  words  on  the  sun-dial  in  front  of 
our  Italian  dwelling  here,  Englished  thus: 
*I  denote  only  the  hours  of  sunshine.' 
But  I  am  thankful  for  the  '  rose-coloured 
spectacles  '  I  am  said  to  wear,  and  I  can- 
not do  better  than  conclude  with  lines  that 
truly  show  my  — 

OLD  AGE   PHILOSOPHY. 

In  lieu  of  vain  regret  for  days  long  flown, 
I  'm  thankful  for  the  joys  that  I  have  known : 
When  conscious  that  I  now  see  less,  hear  less, 
And  walk  less  well,  I  think  of  happiness 
Bestowed  on  me  in  fullest,  dearest  measure, 
And  hug  to  inmost  heart  the  God-sent  treasure. 
Oh,  Memory  !  that  still  is  granted  me  — 
For  dearest,  truest  blisses,  ecstasy 
Of  love  and  intellectual  discourse, 
For  faculties  alert  and  body's  force ; 
For  power  to  enjoy  Life's  choicest  gifts ; 
For  energy  to  ponder  theme  that  lifts 
The  soul  in  lofty  speculation  on 
High  mysteries  that  youth  delights  to  con, 
But  Age  has  learnt  with  calmness  to  accept 
Unquestioned,  as  beyond  our  ken  inept ; 
For  readiness  of  pen,  that  then  expressed 


2;o  MY  LONG  LIFE. 

With  ease  the  thoughts  that  yearned  to  be  confessed 

In  words ;  for  sympathy  desired,  and  found 

As  soon  as  wished,  from  one  whose  wisdom  sound 

And  tender  eagerness  to  lend  his  aid 

Were  ever  generously,  promptly  laid 

At  my  behoof.     Though  years  have  now  bereft 

Me  of  these  blessings  manifold,  those  left 

I  'm  deeply  grateful  for ;  and  more  than  all, 

For  memories  that  former  joys  recall, 

Dear  memories,  on  which  I  dwell  and  live, 

Renew  my  sense  of  youth,  relume,  revive 

My  inner  fire  of  heart,  my  warmth  of  trust, 

My  feeling  that  our  Heavenly  Father  must 

Be  bounteous  and  benign,  as  He  hath  shown 

Himself  to  be  to  me  and  to  my  own 

Beloved  one,  who  made  me  happy  wife 

Throughout  our  earthly  perfect  married  life. 


INDEX. 


ALBERTVEREIN  FEST,  the, 

210. 
"  Analyst   Magazine,"   the, 

126. 

Armstrong,  Mr.,  252. 
"Atlas,"  the,  79. 

BADEN,  Grand  Duke  of, 
258. 

Banmeister,  Herr,  186. 

Barnby,  Mr.,  224. 

Bartholdy,  Otto  Mendels- 
sohn, 266. 

Bath,  Marquis  of,  52. 

Bessemer,  Sir  Henry,  218. 

Birmingham  Festival,  the, 
224. 

Boccardo,  Signor,  159. 

Bonn  Festival,  the,  265. 

Bonnefoy,  Monsieur,  19,  28. 

Bonomi,  Joseph,  129. 

Brevvster,  Miss,  180. 

Broadfield,  Edward,  224. 

CALVERT,  George  H.,  237. 
Camelford  House,  9. 
Cappon,  James,  231. 
Century  Magazine,  the,  219. 
Chandler,  Mr.,  46. 
Charlotte,  Princess,  9. 
Chaucer,  Dan,  219. 


Chelard,  184. 

Child,  Francis,  147. 

Choron,  Monsieur,  94. 

Clarke,  Eliza,  51. 

Clarke,  John,  17;  character- 
istics of,  54. 

Clarke,  Mrs.  John,  49. 

Clifford,  Lord,  119. 

Cobden,  Richard,  148. 

Colburn,  Mr.,  253. 

Coleridge,  97. 

Colman,  Mr.,  98. 

Copley,  14. 

Corson,  Dr.  Hiram,  237. 

Costa,  Michael,  184. 

Cowden-Clarke,  Charles,  15, 
1 6,  26,  39 ;  poem  by,  39 ; 
attentions  paid  to  Mary 
Novello,  41  ;  engagement 
to  Mary  Novello,  45  ;  mar- 
riage, 62 ;  interest  mani- 
fested in  the  Novellos,  78; 
contributes  various  arti- 
cles, 79  ;  becomes  an  edi- 
tor, 80;  books  of,  92; 
health  breaks  down,  106; 
career  as  a  lecturer,  121 ; 
later  writings,  126;  cele- 
bration of  eighty-ninth 
birthday,  165;  death,  166; 
biographic  sketch,  242. 


2/2 


INDEX. 


Cowden-Clarke,  Mary,  birth 
of,  3  ;  early  impressions, 
4;  conscientious  training, 
6 ;  pleasures  of  early  life, 
7 ;  generosity  of  parents, 
ir ;  early  books  read  by, 
1 1 ;  early  religious  life, 
13  ;  youthful  enthusiasm 
for  distinguished  people, 
1 5 ;  studies  with  Mary 
Lamb,  20  ;  goes  to  Bou- 
logne-sur-Mer,  28,  instruc- 
tion from  Mr.  Bonnefoy, 
29;  return  to  England,  34 ; 
becomes  a  governess,  34; 
letters  from  home,  37;  first 
earnings,  40;  health  breaks 
down,  43  ;  recovery  of,  44 ; 
engagement  to  Charles 
Cowden-Clarke,  45 ;  se- 
lects engagement-ring,  47 ; 
first  literary  effort,  48; 
visit  to  West  of  England, 
49;  affectionate  reception 
by  Charles's  mother,  51 ; 
visit  to  Leigh  Hunt,  55; 
visit  to  William  Hone,  57; 
marriage,  62;  visit  to 
Charles  Lamb,  72 ;  first 
wedding  anniversary,  90; 
meeting  with  Coleridge, 
97;  second  wedding  anni- 
versary, 10 1  ;  visit  to 
Cambridge,  101;  "Con- 
cordance to  Shakespeare," 
and  later  writings,  131; 
journey  to  Italy,  131; 
letter  from  Charles  Dick- 
ens, 135 ;  experiences  as 


an  amateur  actress,  134; 
death  of  mother,  143;  resi- 
dence at  Nice,  145;  only 
woman  editor  of  Shakes- 
peare, 145  ;  residence  at 
Genova,  149;  death  of  fa- 
ther, 151;  "  Life  and  La- 
bours of  Vincent  Novel- 
lo,"  156;  edits  annotated 
edition  of  Shakespeare, 
T  60;  death  of  husband, 
1 66;  visit  to  Clara,  167; 
trip  to  Coblentz,  172  ;  visit 
to  Paris  Exhibition,  182; 
visit  to  Salzburg,  183; 
again  plays  Mrs.  Mala- 
prop,  215 ;  return  home, 
219;  visit  to  Manchester, 
221;  visit  to  the  Conti- 
nent, 225;  later  literary 
work,  230,  242,  252;  re- 
cognition by  other  authors, 
236 ;  pleasant  relations 
with  publishers,  252;  later 
life,  267. 

Cowper,  Edward,  55. 

Cramer,  John,  213. 

Craven  Hill  Cottage,  127. 

Cristall,  14. 

Cruikshank,  George,  182. 

DAVENPORT,  MRS.,  81. 
Davies,    Fanny,    246,    249, 

256,  263. 

Dawson,  George,  234. 
De  Beriot,  108. 
Degele,  241. 

Dettmer,  195,205,  212,  241. 
Devrient,  Emile,  204. 


INDEX. 


273 


Devrient,  Otto,  204. 

Devrient,  Schroeder,  no. 

Devrient,  Madame  Schroe- 
der, 204. 

Dickens,  Charles,  130;  letter 
to  Mrs.  Cowden-Clarke, 

135- 

Dohler,  213. 
Dom  Pedro,  260. 
Dowton,  8 1 ;  acting  of,  82. 
Dulcken,  Dr.,  251. 

EGG,  AUGUSTUS,  136. 
Ellmeureich,  196,  206,  212. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  130. 
Enfield,  school  at,  17. 
Ernen,  Fraiilein,  173. 
"  Every  Day  Book,"  the,  58. 
"  Examiner,"  the,  79. 

FARRAR,  MRS.  JOHN,  148. 

Ferguson,  Mr.,  22. 

Feti,  Domenico,  190. 

Fielding,  14. 

Fields,  James  T.,  150,  237, 
254. 

Fields,  Mrs.  James  T.,  238. 

Fitzwilliam  Music,  the,  102. 

Foothead,  Mr.,  10. 

Forster,  John,  136. 

Fryer,  Rev.  William  Victor, 
godfather  of  Mary  Cow- 
den-Clarke,  12;  Wage- 
man's  portrait  of,  13. 

Furness,  Dr.  Horace  How- 
ard, 237. 


GASKELL,  MRS.,  130. 
Giglincci,  Count,  142. 


Giglincci,  Giovanni,  144. 
Giglincci,  Mario,  144. 
Giglincci,  Porzia,  144. 
Giglincci,  Valeria,  144. 
"Girl's   Own   Paper,"  the, 

220,  242. 
Godwin,  90. 
Gounod,  Charles,  221,  222, 

223,  224,  225. 
Gounod,  Jeanne,  222. 
Grant,  Captain,  193. 
Grist,  Miss,  249,  263. 
Guiney,  Miss  Imogen,  238. 

HAINES,  FREDERICK,  236. 

Haitzinger,  no. 

Halpin,  Rev.  N.  J.,  236. 

Hamilton,  Colonel,  137. 

Harvey,  Mr.,  5. 

Havell,  14. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  174. 

Hazlitt,  William,  89;  gift  in 
painting,  89. 

Henley,  Mr.,  173. 

Hie  jacet,  166. 

Holmes,  Edward,  26. 

Hone,  William,  57;  Lamb's 
lines  to,  58. 

Hummel,  112;  great  in  im- 
provisation, 112. 

Humphreys,  Noel,  129. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  touching  verses 
of,  10 ;  perfection  in  read- 
ing aloud,  17;  imprison- 
ment of,  17;  Wageman's 
portrait  of,  17;  the  ideal 
poet,  55  ;  Lamb's  tribute 
to,  59. 

Huntington,  Agnes,  210. 


18 


274 


INDEX. 


Hyacinthe,  Pere,  261. 
Hymn  to  God,  39. 

"  INDICATOR,"  the,  59 ;  dif- 
ficulty in  finding  a  name 
for,  60. 

Ireland,  Alexander,  221. 

Ingleby,  Doctor,  236. 

International  Exhibition  at 
Munich,  199. 

JERDAN,  WILLIAM,  129. 
Jerrold,   Douglas,  plays  of, 
88  ;  characteristics  of,  115. 
Jewett,  Sarah  Orne,  238. 
Jones,  Owen,  129. 

KEAN,  EDMUND,  81;  won- 
derful acting  of,  82. 

Keats,  John,  14,  tomb  of, 
178. 

Kelly,  Miss,  the  actress, 
21 ;  visit  to  Charles  Lamb, 

73- 

Kemble,   Charles,    41,    98 ; 

acting  of,  99. 

Kemble,  Mrs.  Charles,  98. 
Kemble,  Fanny,  98. 
Kensington  Museum,  68. 
Klein,  241. 
Knowles,  Sheridan,  101. 

LAMB,  CHARLES,  14;  son- 
net to  Mrs.  Towers,  50; 
lines  to  Hone,  58 ;  tribute 
to  Leigh  Hunt,  59;  pecu- 
liar characteristics  of,  74; 
a  cordial  host,  77. 


Lamb,  Mary,  14;  teacher  of 

Mary  Cowden-Clarke,  20. 
Lamour,  Mr.  and  Miss,  7. 
Landseer,  Charles,  129. 
Landseer,  Edwin,  129. 
Lavoine,  Miss,  5. 
Leech,  John,  136. 
Lemon,  Mark,  136,  216. 
Leopold,  Prince,  9. 
Liston,  81;  first  appearance 

of,  88. 

Liston,  Mrs.,  85. 
"Literary    Pocket     Book," 

the,  70. 
Littleton,  Alfred,  215,  217, 

251. 
Littleton,   Henry,   143,  181, 

213,  220,  222,  232. 

Lober,  211. 
Long  Leat,  52. 
Loudon,  Mrs.,  128,  133. 
Lover,  Samuel,  129. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  236. 
Lubbock,  Sir  John,  267. 
Lytton,  Richard  Warburton, 
69. 

MAHAFFY,  PROFESSOR,  224. 
Mailhae,  248. 
Malibran,  108. 
Marble  Arch,  the,  4. 
Margaret,  Queen,  179. 
Marsh,  George  Perkins,  179. 
Martin,  129. 
Martin,  Miss,  129. 
Mathews,  81 ;  acting  of,  86. 
Meadow,  Kenny,  137. 
Mechlinburg-Strelitz,  Duch- 
ess of,  258. 


INDEX. 


275 


Mendelssohn,  Professor 
Benjamin,  175. 

Mendelssohn,  Cecile,  265. 

Mendelssohn,  Felix,  109 ; 
great  in  improvisation, 
in;  as  a  conductor,  184. 

Mendelssohn,  Madame  Ro- 
sa, 175,  177. 

Meynell,  Mrs.,  230. 

Montague  House,  legend  of, 
10. 

Moore,  Tom,  57. 

Morris,  William,  154. 

"  Mother  Fowl,"  56. 

Mozart,  183. 

Mozart  Musical  Festival, 
183. 

Munden,  81,  acting  of,  83; 
Lamb's  Elia  paper  on  the 
acting  of,  83. 

Murot,  Clement,  56. 

Murray,  John,  253. 

NATIONAL  GALLERY,  the, 
182. 

Neil,  Ross,  232,  233. 

Novello,  Alfred,  early  life  of, 
10 ;  begins  business,  96; 
eminent  success  of,  96 ; 
retires  from  business,  143. 

Novello,  Cecilia,  marriage 
of,  114. 

Novello,  Clara,  78  ;  brilliant 
artistic  career,  95  ;  marries 
Count  Giglincci,  142. 

Novello,  Edward,  early  life 
of,  10 ;  success  as  an  art- 
ist, 102;  works  of,  103. 

Novello,  Francis,  25. 


Novello,  Mary.  [See  Mary 
Cowden-Clarke.] 

Novello,  Sabilla,  127;  artis- 
tic career  of,  128,  admira- 
ble teacher,  128. 

Novello,  Vincent,  father  of 
Mary  Cowden-Clarke,  3 
set  Leigh^Hunt's  verses  to 
music,  10;  organist  at  the 
Portuguese  Embassy's 
Chapel,  12 ;  performed 
masses  for  the  first  time 
in  England,  13;  '*  Life  and 
Labours  of,"  93;  collects 
subscription  for  Madame 
Sonnenberg,  93  ;  tribute 
of  respect  to  death  of 
Madame  Sonnenberg,  93; 
death,  151 ;  memorial  win- 
dow to,  151. 

OLD  AGE  PHILOSOPHY,  266. 

PARIS  EXHIBITION,  the,  182. 
Patti,  Adelina,  178. 
Pauer,  213. 
Fieri,  158. 

Portugal,  King  of,  129. 
Portuguese  Embassy's  Cha- 
pel, 12. 
Potier,  97. 
Purcell,  Mr.,  34. 

READE,  EDMUND,  97. 
"  Repertory  of  Patent  Inven- 
tions," the,  80. 
Richter,  Hans,  184. 
Ristori,  158,  180. 
Robertson,  Henry,  16. 


2/6 


INDEX. 


Rolfe,  Dr.  W.  J.,  237. 
Rosenhain,  Herr,  263,  264, 

265. 
Rubinstein,  213. 

ST.  NICHOLAS  MAGAZINE, 

the,  230. 

St.  Pierre,  the  feast  of,  28. 
Sarasate,  Pablo  di,  177. 
Sass,  Mr.,  78. 
Savage,  Richard,  236. 
Saxony,  King  of,  208. 
Schumann,  Clara,  264. 
Schumann,  Robert,  264. 
Serle,  Mr.,  115. 
Severn,  Joseph,  181. 
Sgambati,  Signer,  180. 
"  Shakespeariana,"  239. 
Shelley,  Mary,  25,  182. 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  15. 
Smith,  Horace,  90. 
Sonnenberg,  Madame,  sister 

of  Mozart,  93;  death  of, 

93- 

Stephens,  Miss,  113. 
Stokes,  Charles,  112. 
Stone,  Frank,  136. 
Sullen,  Mrs.,  99. 

"  TABLE  BOOK,"  the,  58. 
Tagart,  Rev.  Mr.,  128. 


Tamburini,  146. 

"  Tatler,"  the,  105. 

Thalberg,  213. 

Thaxter,  Celia,  237. 

Thormann,  Miss,  175,  176. 

Timmins,  Sam,  121,  234, 
235,  236. 

Toselli,  158. 

Towers,  Mrs.,  49;  Lamb  ad- 
dresses sonnets  to,  50; 
books  written  by,  50. 

UGBROOK  PARK,  119. 

VARLEY,  14. 
Vestris,  Madame,  88. 
Villa  Novello,  150. 
Vinci,  Conte  Geppino,  170. 

WAGEMAN,  portrait  of  Rev. 
William  Victor  Fryer,  13  ; 
portrait  of  Leigh  Hunt,  17. 

Weber,  Carl  Maria,  42. 

Westminster  Abbey  Festi- 
val, the,  113. 

Williams,  Mrs.,  25. 

Wiseman,  Cardinal,  118; 
great  learning  of,  118. 

Wollstonecraft,  Mary,  25. 

YULE,  MR.,  24. 


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